Firebird Sweet
by JaganshiKenshin
Summary: Katana: gone. Jagan: gone. Dragon: gone. Allies: gone. Can Hiei face his greatest challenge on guts alone?
1. FS Prelude

Title: Firebird Sweet: Prelude  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Summary: Katana---gone. Jagan---gone. Dragon---gone.  
Allies---gone. Can Hiei face his greatest challenge on guts  
alone?

Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the YYH characters (they are  
the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not make any  
money from said characters. Don't sue.

What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters  
in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be  
met with the katana, or worse.

The events in Firebird Sweet take place directly following the  
end of Idiot Beloved.

This novel deals with adult themes, notably the R-word  
(Responsibility), the D-word (Duty), and lastly, the S-word  
(Sacrifice).

Rated for language, fight scenes, and sexual situations.

Firebird Sweet: Prelude  
by  
Kenshin

Tension cramping his chest muscles, Hiei scanned the night for  
signs of danger.

Born to battle, he could not escape his fate, and there was  
always a new enemy. He stood in the middle of a long, broad  
promenade that was carpeted in snow, defined to either side by  
shells of abandoned wood-frame buildings backed by jagged spires of ice.

Devoid of life. His breath caught, then released in a solitary  
puff of steam that drifted toward the heavens. Snow sparkled in  
the indigo light, sifting around his shoulders, settling in his  
hair.

It wasn't possible. He couldn't be here again. Not after so  
many years. But it looked like the realm of the Kourime.

The land of his birth. The land where he had been cast down to  
his death.

The Kourime elder had forced Rui, his mother's friend, to toss  
him overboard like a sack of potatoes.

As if he needed a reminder, the wind backhanded him.

He had better start moving. The muffled squick of his boots on  
snow was nearly swallowed by the wind's snarl.

He must avoid straying too close to either side of the street,  
for the houses could provide cover for enemy attacks. Glancing  
right and left, he let his gaze un-focus slightly, the better to  
pick up any unwarranted movement. Nothing.

The snow began in earnest. Little pings of bitter cold struck  
his face, then whirled and eddied in the malevolent wind. Snow  
coalesced into dancing escorts that mocked him like ghosts  
hellbent on a haunting.

The snow, bad enough on its own, was now laced with thick clouds.  
An enemy could stalk him, using this visual miasma as cover, but  
another glance assured him that the broad glitter of the  
promenade was empty. Not a trace of ki could he detect, nor any  
sign of life in his deserted homeland. He was alone.

No---not quite.

There was no warning flare of spirit energy, no scent of an  
enemy, but suddenly, Hiei had company.

Emerging through a thick white curtain of cloud and snow, a  
stranger approached, then stopped a few yards away.

Shocked, Hiei snapped into focus. For one, this was another male  
in a realm where men were strictly forbidden. An intruder like  
himself, an abomination, unwelcome.

For another, the stranger radiated no ki to speak of, and had  
come upon him in utter stealth. About him was a chilling hint of  
limitless power that Hiei was unable to pin down.

Nothing made sense.

Hiei groped behind him for the comfort of his katana, but it was  
no longer in its familiar place.

Damn.

Flinging off his mantle, he reached along his arm to strip the  
gauntlet warding his Dragon.

No gauntlet, no Dragon.

Double damn.

He lifted the headband that sealed his Jagan, only to meet smooth  
forehead.

"So," he said to the stranger. "On my own strength alone."  
Sliding into a balanced stance so he could launch an attack from  
any angle, Hiei waited for the stranger to make a move.

But the stranger did nothing. Hiei seized the moment's  
opportunity to study him.

He wore his long black hair loose, streaming behind him like a  
banner in the wind. He was tall---perhaps as tall as Youko  
Kurama, with that same look of whippy strength.

Who was he? Some champion of the Ice Maidens, come to slay the  
Abomination?

But no---for that, they would employ a female.

The stranger's calm turquoise eyes, set far apart in the pale  
oval of his face, regarded Hiei with neither passion nor  
prejudice. And almost hidden by the mantle of snow and wealth of  
hair, something---perhaps a weapon, perhaps a power signature---  
flicked in and out of view.

The stranger spoke. "I'm sorry." The voice was deep, cultured,  
fluting. "You have to go back."

"Back? Back where?" A cloud insinuated itself between Hiei and  
the stranger, obscuring his view. Batting the cloud aside, Hiei  
demanded: "Who are you?"

"I wish I could touch you." The hand the stranger extended to  
Hiei was long and slender and beautifully-formed, the skin  
slightly pearlescent.

The color of the stranger's hair. The timbre of his voice.

Could it be?

I have wondered, Hiei thought, wondered my entire life. Lips  
parting in a mix of fear and anticipation, Hiei spoke the word.

"Father?"

The stranger's outline blurred, whether by cloud or snow or  
artifice he could not tell. They stood too far apart. Hiei  
tried to move forward, but the snow was LOOKING at him now, as if  
channeling the dead Ice Maidens, hating his intrusion.

Their hatred and revulsion built. Snow rearranged itself into  
tentacles, wrapping around his legs, binding him so he could  
neither flee nor attack.

The stranger reached for him. The hand Hiei extended in return  
almost brushed the stranger's outstretched fingers.

Just a little closer. Hiei strained forward, the crackle of  
sinew loud in his ears. He would have his answer at last---

---the pulsing roar of mechanical rotors came from high above.  
Hiei jerked his head skyward. A morning glory of flame bloomed  
at the apex of the sky, then slammed down on him. The tentacles  
of snow held him fast. He could not run, could not launch an  
attack---

---but like a kick to the gut, Hiei was propelled backward,  
skating first over snow, then down, falling, falling, falling.

For the second time in his life, hurled off the lip of the  
floating world, stars wheeling away at an alarming rate.

The stranger stood at the edge of that world like a statue, hand  
stretched.

As Hiei fell, the horror of a perfect memory taunted him.  
Unsavory images rose: an infant, wrapped in wards and sutras,  
helpless and furious, cast away.

"It was you!" he snarled to the stranger. "You!"

For an instant, a thick cloud slowed his fall. Then there was  
nothing between Hiei and the ground.

Unable to stop himself, unable to find his balance, spinning  
toward the inevitable, arms and legs scrabbling for purchase  
among fleeting, taunting clouds, the only sound the whistle of  
his plummet toward unyielding earth.

Then, another sound: a metallic announcement, the rasp of a  
voice filtered through speakers:

"Code Blue! Code Blue!"

Code Blue. How hospital personnel call for assistance, whether  
hope of resurrection remains, or death has snatched away the soul  
forever.

Hiei landed with a gasp. There was no sense of impact.

He shot bolt-upright, a hand pressed to his thundering heart,  
disoriented, his gaze casting wildly about. Where---?

He was safe. Safe in bed, gazing down at his sleeping firebird.

Sometimes, Hiei still dreamed of falling. Again and again, cast  
off the lip of the glacial world. Burning. Willing himself to  
survive, to take revenge upon the Kourime. But the  
stranger---that was a new element.

Bad dreams denoted weakness. Hiei despised weakness.

"Shay-san," he breathed.

"Five minutes," she murmured automatically. But she was still  
asleep.

They were not in Genkai's temple tonight, but in the spare room  
of the Kuwabara home. They had defeated White Sands Serpent,  
earning themselves a moment or two of peace.

Hiei sat until his heartbeat slowed to normal and the room  
resolved itself into a tapestry of sound and shadow: the tick of  
the clock on the dresser, the softer tick of his firebird's  
breathing, her mounded form on the bed, dark against dark.

He didn't want to wake her. They had a job to do the next day,  
and in her condition, she needed all the rest she could get.

His firebird.

Not a demon, nor a fighter, nothing more than a human female with  
an innate ability not uncommon to both species, which was quite  
possibly related to her smart mouth.

Now, she curled facing him, eyes tight shut, fire-colored hair in  
splendid disarray. One thumb was almost tucked into the rounded,  
half-open mouth. Her scent, faint with the tang of salt and  
almonds and melon, was a familiar balm.

Cuddled deep in her arms was the Hello Kitty Toy he had given  
her.

In spite of himself, Hiei smiled. Tenshi, he thought fondly: an  
angel; she looks like an angel. He drew in a deep, calming  
breath, then let it out.

In an eyeblink, his world changed.

Of all the dreadful sights Hiei had seen in Makai, in the Dark  
Tournament, in receiving and inflicting pain, this was the worst.

He saw Shay-san, but in a different time, a different place. A  
portent, a nightmare, he could not tell which, but rather than  
lying safely in bed, his firebird lay broken on the pavement,  
blood streaming from her nose and mouth, her eyes open but  
unseeing.

"Code Blue. Code Blue."

He broke into a cold, prickling sweat. Panic closed off his  
throat.

No! The Serpent was destroyed! She was all right now. The  
doctors had said so.

In a flash, he was out of bed, flicking on the lamp. She rolled  
over, murmuring protest. And Hiei saw her again, but this time,  
bathed by light: soft and pink in sleep, whole, unbroken.

Breathing. The steady rise and fall of blankets reassured him as  
nothing else could.

No blood. No danger. No death.

He had been mistaken. This horrifying vision was merely part of  
the same bad dream.

Calling himself every kind of fool, Hiei turned off the light.  
Quietly as a falling snowflake, he lay back down. Within minutes  
he was asleep, his rest no longer haunted by dreams.

-30-

(Next: Why is Hiei flinging dishes at Kurama?) 


	2. FS C 1: The Crazy Dog Diner

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet, C1: The Crazy Dog Diner  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: Rose Whip, made fresh on the premises every day!

A/N: Thanks to Jo-chan for all her back-and-forth about why so  
many YYH fics contain dish-washing scenes!

Order up! Could this be Hiei's new job?

Firebird Sweet Ch 1: The Crazy Dog Diner

by  
Kenshin

Hiei flung the stack of Buffalo China into Kurama's washbasin  
with more force than necessary, spraying the occupants of the  
diner's overcrowded kitchen with hot, soapy water. "Tell me  
again why you insisted on taking this assignment."

"You chipped another one," said Kurama, up to his elbows in  
washing. "That's coming out of your paycheck."

The bell pinged. "Order up!" shouted Botan.

Keiko heaved a long-suffering sigh and rose from the overturned  
milk crate. "Coming."

"It's the other way 'round, Sugarplum." The third "waitress,"  
whose name-tag read NekoNeko, appeared. Her gumdrop-gray eyes  
glimmered with amusement. "The cook tells YOU when it's 'order  
up,'" she informed Botan.

Hip cocked, fire-colored hair twisted up and caught in place with  
a pencil, blowing a bubble of pink gum, jangling with cheap  
jewelry, the waitress spoke again in an outrageous Kansai  
dialect. "One motha an' child reunion, hold the mayo!"

"Don't bury yourself in the part," muttered Kurama.

Hiei beamed. "She's good, isn't she?"

"I'm certain she was born to be an actress," said Kurama. "But  
why are you playing the bus boy, my three-eyed friend?" Kurama  
dabbed at his soapy brow with the back of an equally soapy hand.  
"I thought we were supposed to be undercover."

"Ch," scoffed Hiei. "No one looks at bus boys."

As Hiei had willed himself to survive his ejection from Kourime  
World, so now he would will himself to be different.

He would match Kurama's ease, Yuusuke's cheer, Kuwabara's---well.  
That one required further thought.

But he would shock them all, and delight in doing so, and look  
for opportunities to enjoy himself in every situation.

"Furthermore," Kurama added, "what kind of bus boy wears a  
sword?"

"The good kind. Besides, Shay-san and I are the only ones who  
can cook."

"You can cook?" Kurama was incredulous.

"Shay-san taught me."

"He's a fast learner," she added.

"Oi!" hollered Urameshi, snatching the evil-smelling fry basket  
from its vat of bubbling oil. "So then why am I the fry cook?"

"Because you can't," said Hiei, wickedly.

"Lisssen, Honey." Shay-san bent over Keiko, punctuating each word  
with snaps of gum, "Y'all stay off your dogs a spell and lemme  
handle your station, okay?"

"Fine with me," sighed Keiko, rubbing her feet.

"Keiko can work the cash register," chirped Botan, palming a  
plate of charred hamburgers for some unlucky customer.

"And someone tell me again why we had to drag Keiko along?"  
roared Urameshi.

"Everyone needs fresh air once in a while," protested Botan,  
ducking the heavy china mug Keiko hurled at Urameshi's head.

Kurama eyed Hiei. "That's coming out of your salary, too."

"Mine?" Hiei gasped. "WHY?"

"Come on, come on!" NekoNeko, otherwise known as Jaganshi Shayla  
Kidd, snapped her fingers. "Where's that motha an' child  
reunion?"

"Order up," grumbled Urameshi, pinging the bell, then shoving a  
full plate onto the little pass-through between kitchen and  
diner.

"What IS this?" Shay-san picked up the plate, took a look, then  
a sniff, then gagged.

Urameshi glowered at her. "Hey, anytime you wanna switch me out  
with Hiei---"

"Fine, fine." Hiei's firebird balanced the plate on her forearm  
and picked up two coffees with the other hand. "This ought to  
clear the diner anyway."

Kurama stifled a laugh, exchanging glances with Hiei.

Hiei rolled his eyes.

("The brat of Spirit World has informed Yuusuke there's a demon  
infestation at the Crazy Dog Diner," Kurama had told Hiei.

"Crazy Dog? The one with the American jukebox and the curly  
fries? The one where the customers dress the way they think  
Americans dress?"

"The very same. I put you down as in.")

"Too bad the moron couldn't be here," mused Hiei. "And don't  
think I don't know who he's with and who arranged it," he added,  
cutting a glare at Urameshi.

"I have NO idea what you're talking about," Urameshi said,  
flipping burgers and whistling a tune of innocence. "And no one  
so much as mentioned Yukina."

"Keh." Yanking open the fridge, Hiei muttered "Is there anything  
to eat here that Urameshi hasn't already messed up?" He snatched  
up a familiar-looking fruit. "Unbelievable. I can't get away  
from oranges even if I try."

"That's coming out of your paycheck," said Kurama.

"Bus boy!" The timid squeak of a voice emerged from the Crazy  
Dog's overworked human manager, Nogi-san, a poor soul whose  
nervous tics were multiplying by the hour. Hiei grabbed the gray  
plastic tub and went out into the clatter of dishes and the buzz  
of customers in search of more dishes he could fling at Kurama.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

About an hour later, Hiei discovered a new source of amusement.  
He sat comfortably on the overturned milk crate, watching the  
kitsune scrub. "Kurama. You missed a spot. Chop-chop! That  
mug's not going to clean itself."

"Why on earth aren't you doing this?" Kurama wanted to know.  
"Aren't you always bragging about your ability to withstand  
scalding temperatures?"

"Why on earth am I here in the first place? Aren't you always  
bragging about your ability to manipulate Hiei?"

"You tell him, Hiei." Urameshi carefully lowered another basket  
of curly fries into the smoking, acrid oil until they turned the  
color of charcoal. "Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this!"

NekoNeko came back into the kitchen and tapped Hiei with her  
tray.

He glanced up. "What?"

"Listen, Bus Boy," she drawled, "I thought y'all might care to  
know that one of the customers just handled me in a place that  
only you and a qualified medical doctor should handle me."

"Interesting." Hiei shot a look at the door. "Shall I kill him  
now, or follow when he leaves so I don't mess up the diner?"

"I think," Shay-san replied, "that you should bus that table now.  
As in, yesterday."

Hiei tucked the gray plastic tub under his arm, then followed his  
firebird through the swinging doors into the dining area.

Shay-san pointed to a large booth next to the window and stood  
back, cracking gum.

At the table sat two garden-variety oni, one blue, one orange,  
each no larger than a husky human, dressed in what they probably  
hoped was American gangland garb: loose trench coats, and  
oversized fedoras jammed low over their horned heads.

Hiei shot a glance back at Shay-san. "Oh, who do they think  
they're kidding?"

Keiko poked her head out from behind the cash register. "Uhh,  
just about everyone? Nogi-san says they've been coming here for  
over a week."

Rolling his eyes yet again, Hiei stalked into the kitchen and  
returned with the rest of the team.

Urameshi strove to free his hands of mayonnaise, Kurama wiped  
soap bubbles on his apron, and Botan carefully tucked pencil and  
pad into her skirt pocket.

The Crazy Dog's manager, who had added a nervous tic to his right  
eye in addition to the ones on his chin, forehead and left cheek,  
cowered behind the counter.

Keiko smiled. "You might want to get out while you still can.  
Don't worry, Nogi-san---we'll lock up for you."

"But---" Gulping like a toad, the manager swiveled his head from  
the oni to the Spirit Detectives. "W-what about the cash  
register?"

"My family runs a ramen shop," Keiko assured him. "I got it  
covered."

"Eh-heh-heh." Tugging at his collar, the twitchy little manager  
divested himself of his apron and sidled out the door.

"Alone at last," smirked Hiei, leaning on the oni's table.

"Oi, you!" snarled Urameshi. The oni jerked around to look at  
him. "You in the stupid hats!" he bellowed.

Fully one-third of the regular customers got up and slunk out.

"Who, us?" The blue oni pointed a finger at the orange one.  
"We're perfectly innocent customers having a perfectly innocent  
meal of delectable black curly fries."

"Oh, really." Hiei bared his fangs just enough for the oni to  
catch a glimpse. "Let me see your green cards."

"Heh, heh." The blue oni fanned himself with his menu.

"Green cards," said the orange oni. "I left them in my other  
pants."

"Maybe we could come back tomorrow and show them to you," added  
the blue one.

"Maybe we could do this the hard way." Urameshi cocked his rei  
gun at the oni.

"I vote hard way," yawned Hiei, displaying more fang.

"If we're speaking of doing things the hard way," began Kurama,  
reaching into his hair, "Then I recommend the Rose Whip. Made  
fresh on the premises, every day."

Nine-tenths of the remaining customers edged out.

"Do y'all mind if I try some Voice on these jokers?" Shay-san  
swayed forward, snapping her gum. "Besides, I have an  
appointment with the demon obstetrician in a couple hours an' I'd  
purely love to wrap this up."

The effect was immediate.

Urameshi stuck his fingers in his ears. Botan scuttled away.  
Even Hiei and Kurama stepped back a couple of paces.

Wearing her sweetest smile, Shay-san batted her lashes at the  
errant oni.

"Now, what all are your names, Sugar? Well, ain't that just the  
sweetest thing I ever heard. Goruko and Zotuchi, I want all a'  
y'all oni to give yourselves up niiice and easy, an' sit niiice  
an' still while Botan-san takes y'all back to Pacifier Boy for  
processing. Got me?"

Two more oni crawled out from under the table. "Yes, Ma'am,"  
they chorused.

"Delighted t' meet the rest of y'all," crooned Shay-san. "Now  
y'all just sit there sweet as pie while we decide."

"I could think of something right now," murmured Hiei, caressing  
the hilt of his katana.

But Shay-san turned to Kurama. "Kurama-san, would you do the  
honors?"

"Surely." Summoning a Thrashvine, Kurama soon had the oni tied  
up tighter than a blue-plate special pot roast. "Botan?" he  
queried. "Can you balance such a heavy load?"

"Oh, no problem, Kura-chan!" said the bubbly Grim Reaper. "And  
if it gets too heavy I suppose I can just dump them into the  
river Styx."

Shayla tapped Urameshi's shoulder. "Sugar, y'all can take your  
fingers outta your ears now."

"Hey," reminded Keiko. "Don't let them stiff you on the bill!"

"Thanks for the reminder, Sugarplum. Kurama-san, y'all wanna let  
these oni reach into their pockets a bit? Thanks." Shay-san  
turned to the oni. "Money on the table, fellas. Right now! Not  
you, Yuusuke-kun."

Botan summoned her oar, while Urameshi and Kurama loaded up the  
oni, trying to distribute the weight evenly. In the end, Kurama  
re-tied them and hung them off Botan's oar like a net shopping  
bag.

"There." Kurama gave the Thrashvine a final tug. "That ought to  
do it."

Botan lifted experimentally into the air, balancing the load.  
"Shay-san, mind if I have a stick of that gum?"

"Surely not, Sugar." Hiei's firebird flipped an entire pack of  
gum to Botan in a nice underhand toss.

"Thanks!" With a flick of her periwinkle pony tail and a cheery  
wave, the ferry girl went ferrying her cargo of errant oni.

Keiko peered around the echoing room. "Any customers left?"

"Don't think so, hon." Shay-san flopped into an empty booth and  
slid out of her shoes.

Urameshi slapped the Closed sign in the window.

"Wait." Hiei paused, testing the air. Could it be?

"Hiei?" Locking down the cash register, Keiko came out from  
behind the counter. "What's wrong?"

"There's another demon in here." Hiei frowned.

"Where?" Urameshi clenched both fists.

"Half-demon, to be exact," murmured Kurama, wiping his hands on  
his apron.

"You're right," said Hiei, taking another sniff. "Hanyou."

Shayla-NekoNeko wriggled back into her shoes and joined them.  
"Details, details," she sighed.

Hiei surveyed the little diner. Most of the customers had fled  
during the altercation with the oni. However---

Two remained.

"Well, Sugar?" The gum-cracking NekoNeko cocked a hip.

Hiei pointed his chin at the two remaining customers, back in the  
darkest and least accessible corner booth, as though they had  
meant to hide.

One was a pretty brunette teenager in a green and white school  
uniform; the other was a young man in fire-red hakama and kimono,  
wearing a heavy necklace that carried a spell-signature as  
clearly as if it had been a neon sign. The boy also had long  
white hair partly hidden under a baseball cap.

"The girl?" Urameshi shrugged. "She doesn't look so bad."

"Not her," sighed Hiei, making his way to the booth. "The one  
with the yellow eyes."

And that one was now glaring up at him.

"Uhhh..." The dark-haired teenager smiled, flapping a  
conciliatory hand at them. "He's with me," she chirped, and then  
gave a little crescendo of nervous laughter.

By now the others had gathered around the booth, displaying  
varied degrees of interest and hostility.

"Damned straight I'm with her," growled the yellow-eyed hanyou.  
"Ya wanna make somethin' of it?"

"He's wearing a katana," Hiei informed the others. "Sidesaddle,"  
he added scornfully. Real men kept their swords strapped to  
their backs.

The boy got up. He was tall. He had fangs. And claws, which he  
cricked in an unmistakeable gesture of hostility. "Listen, you  
half-pint bastard---"

"Now, now," warbled the teenage girl.

"Well?" Urameshi flung himself into an empty booth across the  
aisle. Hiei and Kurama followed, while Shay-san and Keiko ducked  
behind the cash register. Turning his questioning gaze toward  
Hiei and Kurama, Urameshi asked, "What do we do with him?"

"'Do?'" snarled the half-demon boy, reaching for his katana.  
"Wadaya mean, 'do?' And just who the hell are you?"

"Good hearing." Hiei beamed. "I like that one. He's ill-  
mannered."

Kurama sniffed the air. "And part dog, judging by that stink."

"Speak for yourself, ya mangy fox-boy," said the hanyou.

Waving the hanyou back down, Hiei cut his gaze toward Urameshi's.

The dark-haired boy's eyebrows posed a question: Should we pull  
the good cop-bad cop routine?

Hiei considered it carefully. He was eager to test it out, and  
most especially eager to play 'good cop.' He could feel the  
weight of Kurama's stare on his back, asking a similar question.

But this girl radiated a holy light. If not the type that had  
terrorized Hiei on his first visit to the Immaculate Heart  
church, and which 'Fadda Brian,' had taught him to use in battle,  
still blazing for eyes to see that could.

And as for the ill-mannered boy---

Hiei told Kurama, "That one. He's just like me, when I was  
younger."

Kurama smiled sweetly. "And that would be when? Five minutes  
ago?"

"Naah," snorted Urameshi. "Not like Baby Hiei. More like if  
someone crossed Hiei with Kuwabara."

"Perish the thought." Hiei gave a mock-shudder. "Let me have a  
word with 'em in private."

"Suit yourself," said Urameshi.

Perching cross-legged on the table, Hiei spoke in whispers with  
the girl for a couple of minutes, while the white-haired boy  
bristled and snarled his accompaniment.

Finally, Hiei caught the boy's yellow gaze and grinned. "Simmer  
down, kid. Save that posturing for when you really need  
it---we're not the enemy."

The boy cricked his claws again. "As if I'd listen to a shrimp  
like you!"

Laughing, Hiei got up and went to Urameshi's booth. "It's your  
call," he murmured to the Spirit Detective, "but I think we can  
let them go. The girl's family operates a shrine---they're on  
their way back there now on some kind of quest."

"Why didn't we sense this guy's ki before?" Urameshi wondered.

Good question, thought Hiei; while the captured oni had a low  
level of spectral power, this boy had a fair amount. "Maybe they  
came in late."

Elaborately stifling a staged cough, Kurama added, "Maybe the  
smoke from the deep-fryer masked it."

"You ought to take that act on the road, fox-boy," Hiei said.

"Still," said Kurama. "Why didn't the half-demon get up when  
Shay-san was using Voice on the oni?"

"Because she said 'oni,'not 'hanyou.'" Rolling his eyes, Hiei  
dug into his pocket, flipping a coin onto the counter. "Here's a  
quarter. Buy a clue."

Urameshi laughed. "Okay. But what about that hanyou?"

"You heard the girl." Hiei shrugged. "He's with her."

"Fine. Let 'em go." Urameshi stifled a yawn. "Less paperwork  
for me."

"Oh," added Hiei, glancing again at the bristling, white-haired  
boy. "And let's take care of their tab."

"I don't see why not." Kurama crossed his arms. "Naturally,  
Hiei, it's coming out of your paycheck."

"In that case give me back my quarter."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The last customers were gone for real. The diner was clean. The  
cash register was closed.

Team Urameshi-plus-Keiko gathered their belongings and left by  
the back way, locking up as they went.

In the tiny lot behind the diner, they stretched, glad to breathe  
air that was free of blackened cooking oil.

"Ugh." Keiko wrinkled her nose. "I'm going to have to wash my  
hair again."

"Me, too," agreed Shay-san. She plucked at the pink skirt.  
"Kinda like this uniform, though. Think I'll keep it."

Hiei gave her a fond glance. They had defeated the Serpent. He  
was no longer alone. And dreams could not harm him.

"Does't she look like an angel?" he murmured to Kurama.

Kurama's lips twitched. "I hardly think that's how she would  
describe herself."

Hiei nodded. "True. A 'hellion with a black heart and blacker  
tongue,' I think is how she puts it."

She spun to face them. "I heard that. And here's what I think:  
Hiei has found his true calling at last."

"What's that?" Urameshi heaved one last bag of garbage into the  
dumpster. "His Majesty the Royal Pain in the Ass?"

"Bus boy," answered Kurama.

"Speak for yourself, Dishwasher," mocked Hiei. "Now that I have  
seen your skills, no one but you will ever wash dishes in my  
presence."

They set out down the alley, each with his or her private  
thoughts. It was now mid-afternoon, and cloudy, with the street  
still relatively empty; their footfalls sounded loud.

At last Keiko said, "I wonder why those oni were in the diner  
anyway."

"Wasn't to sample Yuusuke's blackened curly fries," retorted  
Shay-san.

"Probably just wanted to get away from Makai," said Urameshi.

"I know the feeling," added Hiei.

He watched his firebird as she strolled in front of him, side-by-  
side with Keiko. Carrying twins, he thought, and she doesn't  
even look it. How long's it been? A month? And judging by the  
oni, her Command Voice is coming along. ("I want to be able to  
use it on the kids," she'd told him. "You scare me sometimes,  
woman." "Just sometimes?")

"So this is how you bunch make your living." Shay-san fell back  
to flank Hiei.

"The making-a-living part doesn't enter into it," Hiei muttered.  
It was true. The pittance of a compensation they got from the  
manager of the Crazy Dog Diner would scarcely buy them a  
celebratory meal.

"Aaah." Shay-san got that look on her face when she was scheming  
and the rest of the world had better duck and cover. Then she  
shrugged. "Anyway, it's fun."

"It was!" enthused Keiko. "And this time, nobody died."

Urameshi flicked a hand across his brow. "I didn't even break a  
sweat, except at the deep fryer."

"And I have dishpan hands," whined Kurama, catching up with Hiei,  
then giving him a sharp glance. "Did you suddenly get taller?"

"No, fox-boy." Hiei snorted. "You must be slumping from the  
sheer exhaustion of washing a few dishes."

"My feet hurt," sighed Keiko.

"Mine, too." Shay-san paused to rub an ankle. "But if things are  
always this easy---"

Urameshi stopped. "Crap," said the Spirit Detective. "They're  
not."

"Yeah, this one was much too easy," agreed Hiei.

"Almost as if someone had staged it," said Kurama.

"Why would anyone stage a thing like that?" Keiko peered  
worriedly at each of them in turn.

Hiei's firebird snapped her gum in a thoughtful manner, but said  
nothing.

"Ch," Hiei said. "Whoever did, let them come. It will be a good  
excuse to work on retraining my Dragon."

Beside Hiei, Kurama gave a little shiver that he just as quickly  
suppressed. But as they resumed walking, the air took on a chill  
that even the sun bursting through cloud could not dispel.

-30-

(Next: Circles of flame closing in!) 


	3. FS C 2: Circles of Flame

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet, C2: Circles of Flame  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Summary: Unknown, unseen, the enemy lurks

Thanks to everyone who's reading, enjoying, and reviewing! I appreciate your feedback.

Firebird Sweet C2: Circles of Flame  
by  
Kenshin

Every city---and Tokyo is no exception---has its good and bad  
neighborhoods. There are, of course, certain districts best  
avoided unless one has shady business coupled with superior  
firepower.

While the Crazy Dog Diner is located in a busy, prosperous  
downtown area frequented by students, businessmen, and families,  
across town lies the notorious block known as Myu-Myu Sector.

That sector, however, is undergoing what is politely termed as  
'gentrification.'

Which means, more or less, that abandoned hulks of buildings are  
on sale, in some cases for what amounts to a song. Where there  
are thriving businesses, rents are cheap, but are unlikely to  
remain so for long.

Nobody pays close attention to what goes on inside empty  
buildings. Sometimes, roving gangs both human and demon will  
take up residence in one of those spaces for a short period of  
time to conduct their less-than-savory affairs. Other  
excursions, of shorter duration and less forethought, consist of  
simply breaking windows and running away.

And in one of these abandoned buildings (displaying a peculiar  
rose-tinted brick facade), in a large, vacated office space, a  
king holds court.

He was perhaps not much of a king, his rule coming not from  
Divine Right, but by fist's might. His court was unimpressive to  
behold, but to assume he was any less powerful for all that was a  
fatal mistake. Anyone foolish enough to point out its laughable  
size and motley subjects never walked away unscathed.

"He'll start lookin' soon," said the king. His thick, heavy  
voice lay across the room like an extra helping of dust and  
gravel. "The little bastard's been wonderin'. Mark my words,  
he's gonna drop me a callin' card."

From the far corner of the room arose the sound of female  
murmuring.

The king ignored it. "But I been watchin' him for longer 'n he  
knows," he said. "Way longer." Then he smiled, baring a set of  
wicked-looking fangs.

This underworld king was not a physically imposing creature  
either---at least in terms of height. He was perhaps five feet  
tall; his stocky build had thickened over the years until his  
stomach ballooned a bit past his barrel chest. Yet there was  
power in him, crafted upon his fiery nature. And while some  
demons (Youko and Kourime come to mind) can seem virtually  
immortal, his kind is old at 40, and he was close to that age  
now. Many do not live to see 50. They burn bright and die fast.  
Perhaps the foreknowledge of his own imminent mortality lent him  
not the calm and grace of dignified old age, but the knife-edge  
of anger, despair, and recklessness.

Nor were his surroundings courtly: a few overturned boxes, a  
ramshackle of old furniture decorated with dirt and cobwebs. A  
faint smell of mildew and rat droppings battled with the stink of  
burning wire, and lost.

Dominating one wall of the king's lair was a towering, cobbled-up  
suite of electronic equipment, including a video monitor of  
enormous size; other cast-off business machines littered the  
premises, but there was no mistaking the fact that this king sat  
upon a version of a throne---a raised platform on which the least  
battered of the mismatched office chairs reigned supreme.

The video monitor was turned on at the moment. Its flickering  
images, of a poor quality but recognizable nonetheless, were not  
of any broadcast or cable program. They were private moments,  
not meant for general viewing, but the fruits of a surveillance  
program utilizing jaki. These human-figured demons, ranging in  
size from squirrel to house cat, are commonly employed as  
messengers to the more powerful.

The jaki had done their camerawork well. A group of five young  
people (three male, two female) were captured unawares, walking  
down a street that was flickering between sun and cloud. The  
young people were minding their own business.

Not all of the youths were human; one of the male demons was tall  
and graceful: long, interesting russet hair and leaf-green eyes,  
used to turning heads wherever he went. The other demon was  
good-looking in an arrogant, offhand manner: crimson eyes and  
black-flame hair starburst adding to his vibrant, restive aura.

The king gave a flick of one clawed hand, and the scene switched  
to a pastoral location where two other young people, equally  
unaware, were enjoying the warm spring day. These two were not  
in an urban setting, but in the tranquil gardens of a mountain  
temple run by an old reiki master.

A tall orange-haired boy, powerfully built, walked silently and  
respectfully alongside a tiny, lovely girl with aquamarine hair  
and the same crimson eyes as the young demon in the previous  
view.

The demon-king snorted, then turned off the monitor altogether  
and surveyed his court.

Of the many creatures attending court this day, only one was  
human.

Known by the name of Carlos, the sole human was narrow at the  
temple, broad at the jaw, and had careful, hooded eyes. He wore  
his long brown hair scraped back into a thick, snakelike tail. A  
former chopper pilot for a well-known drug cartel in the  
Americas, Carlos was compact, powerful in a brutal sort of way,  
and cris-crossed with many old scars that showed pale on his bare  
arms. He stood now with his back to the monitor, facing his  
king.

The others in the room were demons: oni lounging at games of  
dice and cards on a makeshift table in a corner. A couple of  
those creatures called Shifters (who, unlike mere Illusion  
Beasts, are able to mask their ki as well as shape). An  
impressive collection of the female water sprites known as mizu  
no odoriko---tiny, delicate demons, human-figured, no taller than  
a foot or so, with a greenish cast to their skins, charmingly  
elfin in appearance.

And now, huddled together on the floor, shivering. They perhaps  
sensed something the others could not.

The office chair-cum-throne creaked. The king rose.

Card and dice games stopped. All his subjects paid fearful  
attention.

With one clawed finger, the demon drew a large circle in the air.

The circle was made of flame, held in a thin hoop by his arcane  
powers, and the fire made the air around it waver with heat.

Inside the first circle, he drew a second, smaller circle of  
flame, and another, smaller, inside that. Finally, the king  
placed a fire-dot at the center, a burning bull's-eye.

He smiled. The water-dancers whimpered.

"The thing that gets me is how he's surrounded by all these  
creatures. All these worthless lives. Kids. Priests. Stupid  
girls. But he puts a value on 'em. So that makes 'em valuable  
to me, kinda."

"In what way, Boss?" Carlos turned to face his ruler and  
employer.

With a jerk of the same clawed forefinger, the king destroyed  
each circle of flame, vanishing the fiery hoops in puffs of black  
smoke until only the center bull's-eye remained shimmering in the  
air.

"See, I think it's gonna be fun to take 'em away from him, one by  
one. Watch him try to figure out what's going on. Watch him try  
to mount some offense."

Carlos flicked a glance at the oni and the more interesting  
Shifters; they rose and stood at attention, a solid line of bone  
and muscle, eager to go.

"Hold it," said the king. They held. "It's broad daylight.  
What was you thinkin'? Gonna take a little stroll down Main  
Street with your pals?"

Carlos said nothing. The watchful, hooded eyes were fixed on his  
employer.

"See, these things, they gotta be planned. Ya gotta have a  
scheme."

Carlos thought for a second, then responded. "So what about  
this: why don't you control them from here, Boss? It's not that  
far. Make the human kid strangle the girl, or the fox-boy tear  
the woman to pieces."

The king bared his fangs. "We do stuff on MY say-so, get it?"

Carlos went white at the knuckles. "Yeah, Boss. I got it."

"Good. See that you stay 'got.' Pick one an' wait a little.  
Wait till night, or the next day. Ain't no fun 'less he first  
gets to feelin' all smug an' happy. It's the ups an' downs that  
make for a good campaign. Set 'em up first, then when you knock  
'em down again---" The demon smacked his broad lips.

Carlos took a breath, studying the line-up of demons. "You." He  
pointed at the smaller Shifter, a demon whose natural state  
brought to mind the garden-variety oni---save for the unholy  
light shining from its eyes.

That Shifter moved forward to stand near Carlos. The others  
subsided, going back to their games.

"That's better," said the underworld king. "I'll tell ya what I  
want from him later, an' it's gonna be good. But now..."

He drew himself up to his full height of perhaps five feet. The  
other demons softly put down their cards and dice again, waiting.

The king returned to the single point of flame that still hovered  
in the air. He twitched his finger, expanding the burning  
bull's-eye into another circle of flame. Like the conductor of  
an orchestra, he waved his finger.

The circle responded, floating lazily into the center of the  
room, where it hovered above the trembling water sprites.

Their tiny voices shrilled in terror as the circle of flame  
descended toward them. Frozen in place, they were perhaps hoping  
that this would render them invisible.

It did not.

The circle of flame settled like a lariat onto one of the water  
sprites. The others scattered, huddling against the wall,  
staring at their unfortunate companion with wide, greenish eyes.

The chosen water sprite raised her hands, wailing piteously,  
begging her sisters for help, but they were too frightened to  
move.

With a flick of the king's clawed finger, the fiery circle  
tightened around the hapless sprite. Flames rose, crackling with  
glee. The stench of burning flesh made the human cough.

She gave a single prolonged scream before she died.

"Yeah," said the demon-king. His laugh sounded like a wet slug  
hitting the floor. "It's go time. But on my clock an' no one  
else's."

(To be continued: Botan's got some news!)

-30- 


	4. FS C3: 'Let The Games Begin'

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet, C3: Let The Games Begin!  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: A little Pachinko and a little mayhem go a long way.

A/N: Thanks, everyone who's been reading thus far. This is quite a loong story, the sequel to Idiot Beloved, which is also posted toa LJ community as well as here. And there are many sidefics to come. If you enjoy action/adventure with a bit of humor thrown in, why not give it a try? I appreciate all your comments! Oh, and Carl? If you're still reading? Got a little something in here for you. ;)

Firebird Sweet C3: "Let The Games Begin!"  
by  
Kenshin

The game of Pachinko dates back to the 1920s, though its origins  
are much older, and it may have come to Japan from either America  
or Korea. A bit like a vertical pinball game, Pachinko is played  
with ball bearings that the gamer must catch to win. Payouts,  
however, are not in cash---gambling is forbidden in Japan---but  
in tokens or trinkets, which can then be exchanged for cash at  
another location, a somewhat complicated but widely accepted  
arrangement.

There are such games in Makai. In one of its larger cities, the  
chief manufacturer of a similar game called Hitokumi had once  
briefly employed a demon known as Youko Kurama.

Who now, as Minamino Shuuichi in the Power Win Win Pachinko  
parlor, was steeped in semi-fond memories.

The aisles made narrow by banks of machines, merry with the ping  
of bells and blue with smoke, brought a tiny smile to his lips.

The fortune of his friend Yuusuke---well. That was another  
matter altogether.

The dominant color here in the parlor was red, for luck, but in  
Kurama's experience, luck always went not to the player but to  
the house.

Today was no exception. Yuusuke was losing, big-time.

Kurama was watching the Pachinko balls answer to gravity's  
commands and Yuusuke failing to catch them when he sensed a  
presence whose origins were a lot further away than Korea.

He looked up, and caught the lavender eyes of Koenma's favorite  
ferry girl as Botan pressed through hordes of gamers to reach  
their side.

"Yuusuke! There you are." Planting her hands on her hips,  
Botan surveyed the boys. "Kuwa-chan! Kurama! You're too young  
to be here, and frankly, Kurama, I'm surprised at you in  
particular!"

Draping an arm over Yuusuke's shoulder, Kuwabara guffawed. "Hey,  
I'm just watchin' Urameshi to see he don't get into trouble."

"And I'm just watching Kuwabara-kun watch Yuusuke," added Kurama.

"I'm only in it for the money," grumbled Yuusuke, frantically  
working the flippers, to no particular avail.

Kurama's practiced eye lit upon a new pendant dangling from a  
thin golden chain around Botan's neck. It was a peony, worked in  
cloisonne enamel, delicately colored, and quite expensive-  
looking. "That's a lovely piece, Botan-san. Where's it from?"

"Oh!" The girl lifted the enameled peony. "Shay-san brought it  
back from America. Wasn't that sweet of her? And what did she  
get you, Kura-kun?"

"A complete set of Brother Thomas McNeil's  
demonologies---signed."

"I got a signed Megallica poster!" Kuwabara beamed with pride.

"Buncha Chuck Norris videos," muttered Yuusuke, his concentration  
on the game. "What's the scoop on those oni we caught, Botan?"

"Oh! Right. Oni. Well, we learned from the four of them that  
there had been, and I quote: 'A hole blown in the barrier the  
size of a battleship, made by an explosion of incredible fire-  
power' some time ago."

Fire-power? Kurama narrowed his eyes in thought. "I assume the  
breach has been sealed?"

"Yes indeedy! Enma Daioh's barrier-weavers shut it right down.  
Those oni we got at the Crazy Dog Diner were a decent enough lot,  
you know. They were just stuck here in the human world, trying  
to get by. Reminded me a little bit of Jorge."

"But other demons coulda come through," said Kuwabara.

"Worse demons," agreed Yuusuke.

Botan winked at him. "True, but that's why we pay you the big  
bucks!"

"Hey!" Another opportunity to score a catch dribbled by Yuusuke.  
"No one pays us, you nitwit!"

"No need to get hostile," Botan reminded him. "And anyway you  
know what I meant."

"Has the Shrimpboat heard the news?" said Kuwabara.

"Of course, silly." Botan gave Kuwabara an affectionate pat. "I  
caught up with him earlier today."

"And where was he?" Kurama wanted to know.

"In the park, reading a book---in English---about baby and child  
care."

Kurama raised an eyebrow. "And what did he say when you gave him  
the report?"

"He thanked me and wished me a pleasant day."

"Now that's scary," said Kuwabara.

Kurama gazed at the cascade of Pachinko balls that Yuusuke was  
struggling to catch. A dazzle of motion, so many different  
elements that it was impossible to detect a pattern. But there  
were patterns to be found elsewhere, and one had recently been  
broken. "Who is Hiei?" he mused.

Everyone stared at him. Yuusuke let the last ball drop.

"Oo! I know!" Yuusuke raised his hand as though he were in  
school. "Major-league pain in the butt who always comes through  
for us?"

It was Kuwabara's turn to raise a hand. "Runt with an attitude  
twice his size?"

"Make that four times," advised Botan.

"Hey, fox-boy." Yuusuke gave the unyielding machine a half-  
hearted kick. "Is this you, going all philosophical on us?"

"Snooty private schools," grumbled Kuwabara.

"I've known Hiei a bit longer than you have," Kurama admited.  
"He's quite self-contained. What is he thinking at any given  
minute? Scenes of mayhem? Longing? Carrier hum?"

There was a brief silence. Then Yuusuke broke it with a loud  
laugh. "You've never been a normal teenager, have you?"

"Well..." Kurama smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "As a matter of  
fact, no. But neither has Hiei. Perhaps that's why he and I hit  
it off when---"

"Look," sighed Yuuske, with an eye-roll Kurama's way, "you're not  
getting on his case again?"

"Or worse---" threatened Kuwabara. "On Shay-san's?"

Kurama shook his head. "I assure you I am not. I only  
wonder---"

"Because he smiles now?" groused Yuusuke. "You gonna be tailing  
him and grumbling how that's not normal and looking for a way to  
micro-manage him?"

"Those days are finished," said Kurama. "But apparently, so is  
the Hiei we had all gotten used to."

"Well, if you ask me," chirped Botan, "It's a big improvement."

"Maybe so." Kurama licked his lips. In his experience, you  
could dodge the past, but it would find a way to come back and  
bite you. Youko had many enemies; so, no doubt, did Hiei. "I 'm  
only wondering whether---"

Breaking off, Kurama gasped---at the unexpected shock of an evil  
aura, exploding into the smoky, noisy space.

They turned to one another; no words were needed. Yuusuke  
hammered down the aisle and shot out the door in hot pursuit;  
Botan followed. Kuwabara narrowed his eyes, scanning the parlor  
for the invader. Kurama extended his senses, roaming the crowded  
aisles, searching for the aura again.

But there was no trace of it now.

Kurama finished his perimeter sweep and rejoined Kuwabara.  
Yuusuke returned, breathing hard.

"Can't track it." The dark-haired youth shook his head.  
"Whatever it was got clean away from us."

Botan arrived moments later, her eyes like saucers. "What was  
that awful thing?" she wondered.

"Dunno," said Kuwabara. "It felt bad, though. Like a needle in  
the ear."

Beware of the past, thought Kurama, and for no reason he could  
name, he felt afraid.

For Hiei.

0-0-0-0-0

He was dreaming when the phone rang.

They were sitting on a cloud, he and his firebird, and he caught  
the merest glimpse of the dark-haired stranger sailing on another  
cloud.

"I have to catch him," Hiei said.

"Don't you understand?" Shay-san replied. She was knitting two  
pair of baby booties. "He's already passed you by."

"But I have to talk to him," said Hiei, jumping off the cloud to  
follow the stranger.

A chorus of bells stopped him.

When they had returned from America, Father Brian, resident of  
the Immaculate Heart church and privy to Hiei's secrets, had  
given Hiei a small communications device closely resembling a  
mobile phone. "Think of it as the Bat-Phone, son," the priest  
had said.

"The what?" Hiei replied.

And now that phone was ringing. And it was late.

Hiei was not happy.

Still in bed, Hiei fumbled for the annoying device with intent to  
kill. Shay-san groaned in protest, pulling the pillow over her  
head. "Five minutes," she pleaded.

"Take all night," Hiei told her, and, stranglehold on phone,  
flicked into the darkened hall to answer it.

"WHAT?" he snarled.

"Well, well!" The familiar, lilting voice spoke English, and was  
far too cheerful for the earliness---or lateness---of the hour.  
Hiei could envision the priest on the other end: his pit-bull  
features and work-scarred hands, his ferocious grin employed in  
relentless pursuit of Hiei. "I see someone's taught my favorite  
little pissant how to answer the phone."

"I can go to the bathroom all by myself now, too."

"You let a demon run loose a couple days back, so I'm told."

"Half-demon," Hiei corrected.

"We keep tabs on that one. He's a good guy."

"Wonderful. You wake me up to tell me I did something you don't  
care about and which makes no difference to the world."

"No, you dumb little shit. I woke you up to send you out on a  
job."

"Sorry. You must have the wrong number."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. Sorry you've forgotten how you  
signed onto this program. Sorry you've forgotten your poor long-  
suffering priest who doused you with Holy Water an' anointed you  
with oil. Sorry you've forgotten the part when you said to me:  
Okay, Father, this time, with eyes open, I become Rome's sword."

Hiei slid down the wall, settling onto the floor. Kuwabara,  
judging from the rumbling snores emanating from his room, was  
asleep. Shizuru was elsewhere; that one had a tendency to stay  
out late.

"Hey, Kiddo," prompted Father Brian. "Did you get old and die on  
me? Are there mushrooms in your ears? Did you go back to the  
demon plane?"

"I'm listening, Father."

"There's demon ki detected in the park. Koenma wants---"

"Wait. If 'Koenma wants,' where's Yuusuke? Why call on me?  
Isn't that the reason I enlisted in your program---to get away  
from Koenma?"

"That's only half the reason and you know it. Your little  
colleen---"

"Little colleen nothing. Clearly you are trying to make her a  
widow."

"I volunteered you because I'm coordinating the round-up with  
Koenma. That was some hole blown in the barrier, kiddo. We'll  
need all the help we can get wrangling the strays."

Hiei got to his feet, slowly.

If it was all the same, he had really rather not. The hour was  
late and it was difficult to conjure amusement from these  
circumstances. He was tired from too many dreams, and someone  
else could handle a random spark of demon energy for once.

But it was not all the same. Nothing was any more. He was not  
the same kid he had been even a month ago. He had indeed pledged  
to protect the human world, and now that marker was being called  
in.

"All right, Father. Do I have time to leave a note for 'the  
little colleen?' I don't want to wake her."

"That's considerate of you, kiddo. And may the luck of the Irish  
be with you."

"I would rather have the skill of the demon."

"Suit yourself, you arrogant little pissant."

Hiei was about to sever the connection when he heard the priest  
say, "Wait."

Hiei waited.

"Son." This time, the priest's voice came through soft and  
gentle. "I know you're not in fighting trim just now. But  
Urameshi's not available, and you're all we've got."

"I know, Father."

"You could always roust the big fella, that Kuwabara, out of his  
slumber should you need a hand."

"I think I'd rather be eviscerated by scores of rampaging demons.  
I'll do this alone, Father, thanks all the same."

Laughing, the priest hung up.

0-0-0-0-0

An hour later, sword at his back and mantled, Hiei stood on a  
rooftop overlooking the park and the streets surrounding it.

Youyogi Koen. Large, graceful oasis frequented by natives and  
tourists alike. Containing lawns, ponds, forest--everything, in  
short, a roving demon could desire, including humans for food, a  
practice which, even when he lived in Makai, had turned Hiei's  
undeniably-strong stomach.

Kurama would know more about its flora and somewhat of its fauna.  
All Hiei cared about was that it provided decent shelter and a  
place to sleep.

The power of his Jagan gently shunted people away. He planted in  
passersby the idea that they didn't really want to go to the park  
now, did they, effectively creating a perimeter around the  
unknown source of demon energy.

This particular aura seemed to percolate with an odd, irregular  
flicker, like a guttering candle---as though the demon emitting  
it was weak, possibly wounded.

Wounded creatures were twice as dangerous.

Darting from rooftop to telephone pole, Hiei made his way to the  
park and approached the spot where the demonic aura trembled and  
wavered. He touched down in the uppermost branches of the  
tallest tree. From there, he had the advantage of both height  
and surprise.

Just don't take too long to study the situation, he admonished  
himself. You're you, not Kurama.

The trees at night took on fantastical shapes, vague and  
threatening as giants hunkered down over a bleak meal of human  
bones.

His night vision was excellent, and once he located the demon's  
aura, he also spotted the rucked bark of a venerable oak some 100  
feet north-northwest of his own.

The demon was crouched low on its gnarled roots. In an instant,  
Hiei launched himself toward it, sword in hand, ready for  
anything.

The other demon caught sight of him, crying out in a shrill  
voice: "Don't hurt me!"

Landing, Hiei did not attack. Instead, he studied.

The other demon was as tiny as its voice---no larger than a human  
child, with a round head from which one conical horn sprouted,  
half-hidden by ill-kempt greenish hair that also failed to  
conceal the large, back-pointed ears. What clothes it wore were  
filthy rags, and it was shivering, whether in terror or cold Hiei  
could not tell, but judging from the look in its enormous violet  
eyes, an equal mixture of both. "Please, mister." It shrank  
from him, trying to incorporate itself into the roots of the  
tree, failing.

Crap, Hiei thought, He's just a kid.

Okay. Here's your chance to practice your parental skills. The  
book said---never mind what the book said.

Sheathing his sword, Hiei approached the little demon.

"That thing around your neck---" The demon kid's teeth clattered  
like castanets, biting off the rest of the sentence.

"You mean the Rosary." The large wooden Rosary was the first  
thing Shay-san had ever given Hiei; it had come to her through  
her uncle, the Franciscan demonologist Thomas McNeil.

The kid nodded, mute, its eyes fixed on the Rosary.

In North America and Japan, the Rosary isn't ordinarily worn  
round the neck, but in purse or pocket, or in the case of  
seminarians, tucked into the belt. That Hiei wore it at all was  
an unusual thing, but Hiei was unusual among demons. Unlike most  
others, he was unaffected by the Rosary, and able to employ it as  
a weapon, along with the equally potent Holy Water, which he'd  
left at home.

Still, this little guy seems harmless enough. Maybe fear made  
his aura spike, Hiei mused, taking hold of the Rosary and tucking  
it inside his mantle.

"All gone," Hiei said. The little demon tracked the movement of  
Hiei's hands. Then Hiei knelt, so his greater height would not  
further terrorize the kid. They were within touching distance  
now, and he saw tear-tracks on the other demon's grubby cheeks.  
"Lost, aren't you."

The little fellow nodded up at him, eyes still wary. Hiei's face  
remained set like stone. At one time, he would have yearned for  
a single friendly word. "Look, kid, let's just get you back  
where you belong and call it a day."

"O-okay." The kid managed to still his chattering teeth.

Rising, Hiei extended a hand to the lost boy. I'm getting the  
hang of this, he thought. Maybe there is some kernel of parental  
instinct buried in me after all. I'll call Botan and she'll take  
him to Koenma. Kid's done nothing wrong---probably just got  
caught on the wrong side of the barrier.

But the kid darted a furtive tongue over his quivering lip.  
Clearly, he trusted no one.

"Your people must be worried," Hiei prompted.

"Don't got no people," muttered the kid.

Hiei stopped breathing for a split-second.

Well. Three kids won't be much more trouble than two, right?  
How could I put this to my firebird? 'He followed me home---can  
we keep him?'

Unlike Hiei, the boy would have trouble passing as human. There  
was the matter of his extravagant ears. And the small matter of  
that horn. But a hat would cover those peculiarities.

Or in a pinch, a long white scarf.

"Bet you could use something to eat," Hiei said, slowly unwinding  
his scarf so as not to alarm the kid.

The boy nodded, his throat working. And a bath, thought Hiei,  
judging from his condition. "Here, kid. Let me just get this  
over your---"

Faster than an eyeblink came a pop, as of a light bulb going bad.  
And the boy's tiny, timid spirit energy, the guttering-candle ki,  
suddenly blazed fierce and blue. The expanding aura blew Hiei's  
scarf from his hand and tore off his mantle.

Both garments fluttered away.

The demon boy said, "Stupid bastard."

His voice booming now, eyes changing, flashing from violet to  
fluorescent green, his form expanding to fit the bellowing ki,  
tall as Hiei, then taller, like a dry sponge dropped in water  
expanding to twenty times its size, until Hiei faced a tower of  
horn and armored skin and razor fangs.

The monster's pebbled hide had a dull purple cast and looked hard  
as stone. An orange crest ran down its spine.

Hiei's sword raised now. The demon flicked a claw, casually  
backhanded him across the face. Pain exploded in his jaw. Hiei  
flew back, slammed crosswise against a tree trunk, taking the  
impact full on his spine, white-hot pain zinging into his head  
and his toes.

Then crashing to the ground, tumbling, rising, sword ready,  
spitting blood.

The enemy's ki burned like a bonfire. He had been trying with  
only partial success to mask it. Hiei made a lightning  
reassessment.

An upper-B class youkai. Formidable. High intelligence, great  
strength. The form in general human, but some twelve feet in  
height, the girth astounding, the horned head with its dog's maw  
grinning now, and slavering.

"Oh, good," Hiei said. "Now I won't feel so bad about killing  
you."

"Neither will I, pipsqueak." The demon's clawed hands spread  
out. "Gotta thank you for giving me a good laugh, though." The  
timbre of the booming voice changed, high with mockery: "Ooo,  
little boy, I bet your Mommy MISSES you!"

Annoying bastard, Hiei thought. "She'll miss you even more once  
I get done with you." Without another word he launched himself  
at the enemy.

The youkai put up a forearm the size of Kuwabara, using it as a  
shield. Sword met hide. Sword shattered.

Dodging the monster's return stroke, Hiei rolled, came up with  
sword-hilt in hand. He didn't like using that particular  
technique. Still. He charged the demon, calling on his Darkness  
Flame Sword: "Jaou Ensatsu Ken!"

Nothing happened.

The monster, fast for his size, leapt forward, slashed Hiei what  
would have been a killing blow save for Hiei's quickness. The  
claws just missed eviscerating him, but opened up a long bloody  
slash across his right shoulder.

"Dragon arm," Hiei panted, scrambling to his feet to face the  
creature. "You'll pay for that."

Father Brian's words came back to him: It's likely you can no  
longer summon the flames of Makai.

If true, then most of his attacks were gone. Vaporized.  
Finished.

"You were saying?" jeered the monster.

What did he have left? Speed and smarts, yes. Holy Water, no.  
Don't leave home without it.

Yanking his headband away, Hiei exposed the Jagan. As his third  
eye activated, he felt that peculiar tickling sensation, then the  
warmth emanating from his forehead as it fired up its psi-beam.

The monster stopped, put a clawed hand to his belly. With his  
other hand he pointed to Hiei, chuckling, the sound like a buzz-  
saw ripping through wood. "Oh, that's rich! I'm supposed to act  
like your zombie slave now and do your bidding? Yes, Master," it  
simpered. "Your word is my command!"

Ch! "Fist of the Mortal Flame!" Hurling himself forward, Hiei  
leapt up to rain a series of fiery blows upon the monster's vast  
midsection. The attack seemed to have no more effect on the  
enemy than a kitten batting at a lion.

"Okay, pipsqueak." The monster shot out a hand the size of  
Hiei's head. "Time's up."

Kurama's admonishing voice in his mind: Never close with superior  
weight and strength.

Too late. The demon had him.

One hand round his shoulder, the other circling his waist. A  
lambent flash in the sickly greenish eyes, the look of "Gotcha!"  
as the demon pulled Hiei in. The trunk-thick arms tightened,  
threatening the integrity of Hiei's ribcage and sending electric  
shocks of pain along his already-injured spine.

Wrenching free, Hiei tumbled away and landed badly, hurting his  
left knee. The enemy followed. Hiei dodged, but his leg gave  
out. He was down.

In a wink the monster was on him again, reaching for his throat.

"Rei-gun!"

Urameshi Yuusuke's buoyant snarl split the night air. Hiei  
caught a glimpse of the boy from the tail of his eye before the  
white flash of his spirit energy struck the monster.

The youkai was blown into pieces before it could even cry out.

On hands and knees, Hiei sucked oxygen as his rescuer approached.  
Urameshi's footfalls were muffled by the dewy grass. "Hey,  
Hiei," he said, with no more fervor than if it were broad  
daylight and they'd just passed one another on the way to some  
sushi bar. "Busted another sword, I see."

"Ch. Cheap junk." Still breathing hard, Hiei levered himself to  
his feet. "Swordmaking's a lost art."

"Yeah?" Urameshi was at his side now. The boy wore a rather  
dilapidated green jacket, its frayed collar turned up against the  
night air. "You got fire. Can't you re-forge it?"

"Lack the skills." Still a bit shaky, Hiei tottered forward to  
the foot of the tree and picked up the pieces of the broken  
sword, eased the business end first into the intact saya, then  
the hilt.

Suddenly, the tree trunk looked awfully inviting.

Hiei sank to the ground. "Got a spare back home anyway." He  
sighed, trying to settle against the tree in a way that did not  
hurt. Couldn't be done.

While he was not as depleted as when he summoned the Dragon, the  
effort of trying to call on the Black Flame Sword was tiring in  
itself, and he'd taken real damage to his back.

He hugged both knees to his chest, groaning, "I need a better  
arsenal."

Urameshi joined him, sitting on a tree root with considerably  
more ease. Hiei regarded the boy whose pure heart had, with the  
precious coin of trust, helped to change his.

Urameshi scowled. "Well, what about Sword of the Archangel?"

"Funny thing about that. No demon can stand against it, but it's  
a last-ditch attack because of what it does to me."

Taking out a pack of cigarettes and shaking one loose, Urameshi  
whistled. "Even laster than the Dragon?"

Hiei nodded. "Which won't obey me any more."

"Holy crap." Urameshi struck a match, touched it to the tip of  
the cigarette, then inhaled with evident satisfaction. "That's  
bad, isn't it?"

Grunting assent, Hiei said, "Just once, I'd like an attack that  
doesn't blind me or knock me flat out. I'm half-Kourime. I  
should be able to use ice. Why can't I use ice?"

"So. Dragon doesn't work?" Urameshi had a one-track mind. "Same  
hold true for your Jagan?"

"No. Want me to try it out on you again?"

Urameshi let out a stream of smoke. "Why not just ram a spike  
through my head."

"H'n." Hiei fumbled the phone from his pocket. Good. Still  
intact. Punching in a button, he waited for the connection.

"What's that?" Urameshi's eyes were bright with curiosity. Hiei  
didn't respond. When Shay-san picked up on the other end,  
sounding oddly alert, he told her he was finished and would  
return shortly.

Urameshi put both hands to his head, shoulders shaking with  
laughter. "Maaaan," he spluttered. "Are you ever WHIPPED."

"Yuusuke, I go out, she doesn't know if I'm coming back alive.  
Does any of this register on you?"

"Want a smoke?"

"Gimme." The boy handed over the cigarette, and as he  
instructed, Hiei stuck it between his lips and pulled the smoke  
deep into his lungs, then exhaled through his nose.

He managed to avoid the first-timer rodeo of hacking and  
wheezing, but gave the cigarette back to Urameshi. "I don't  
believe I care for these."

The wind rustled softly through the trees.

"So you're really gonna have a kid," said Urameshi.

"Nope."

The boy turned a puzzled gaze onto him.

"She is," Hiei elaborated.

Urameshi took another drag. "I stand corrected."

"And two of 'em."

"Somehow I just can't picture you as a Dad."

"Neither can I. Still, it's a fact of life."

"Wonder how much bus-boying pays."

"Not enough."

"What about Rome?"

"Even less." Hiei's left incisor was loose from the backhanding  
he'd taken; the copper tang of blood remained in his mouth.  
Turning away from his friend, he spat, then probed with his  
tongue, winced, and decided to let well enough alone. The tooth  
would tighten up in a few hours anyway. His back was another  
story. It hurt even to breathe.

Urameshi sighed. "Well, I lost all my cash playin' Pachinko, so  
I guess that leaves Shay-san's family." To Hiei's surprise,  
Urameshi got up, laid a hold of his wrist, and hauled him to his  
feet before he could get out so much as a yip of pain.

"Mantle's around here somewhere." Hiei peered into the nearby  
stand of trees. "Ah." There it was, tangled in a high branch.  
He retrieved it, found his scarf draped on a yew bush, then  
gingerly slid into both garments.

"Here." Urameshi handed Hiei his Jagan ward, and Hiei fixed it  
back in place.

Then they were walking away from the battle, toward the street.  
The lit rectangles of windows were like watchful eyes looking  
down on them. "Can't take the family's money, though," Hiei  
continued.

"Why not?" Urameshi's glance was filled with surprise. "They  
have plenty of it."

Hiei shook his head. "Just can't."

"Can't let your kid starve either."

"Kids. Two of them."

"Even worse. Two little pairs of red eyes starin' up at Daddy:  
'Daddy, we're hungry! Feed us, Daddy!' And you can't, cause  
you're stubborn. Why don't you just steal something?"

Hiei knew Urameshi was testing him; the boy was no thief himself.  
"Gave that up for Lent."

"Y'know, I think I liked you better before. When you were tryin'  
to kill me."

"No, you didn't."

"I didn't?" Urameshi's mouth twitched in mirth.

"Not considering what I did to Keiko."

"Which was?"

Had Urameshi truly forgotten? Hiei slanted a look at him.  
"Capture? Kouma no Ken? Wound? Warehouse?"

"Ahhh." The boy waved a dismissive hand. "That. No permanent  
damage, and she doesn't remember a thing."

"Ch." It was just like Urameshi to be impulsive, both in action  
and forgiveness. But in Hiei's experience, women were different.  
They had long memories, and held grudges; even now his firebird  
shot him the occasional simmering glance because he had let the  
others know about her 'condition' before she was quite ready to  
reveal it.

They were nearing the street, but Hiei had one more question.  
"Father Brian said you were out of reach. What---"

"Hadda clean up after Mom." Urameshi flung the butt of his  
cigarette onto the pavement and let it die.

Hiei did not probe, nor did he return Urameshi's earlier favor  
with an equally smart-ass comment about being whipped. Family  
could be a sore spot. All he said was, "I suppose I owe you one  
for bailing me out."

The other boy shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "Skip it.  
Think you can walk home from here all by yourself?"

"I think so." Hiei gave a snort. "If I get scared I can always  
find a policeman."

"Ja!" Not looking at Hiei, Urameshi darted forward and ran down  
the street with a little backward wave.

Hiei watched him go. When he was certain Urameshi was out of  
earshot, he breathed, "Thanks," then turned for home himself.

-30-

(To be continued: Time for some arrogance!)


	5. FS C4: The Arrogance of the Tango

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C 4: The Arrogance of the Tango  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: Settling in, strife, and a unique sort of battle lie  
ahead. Can this really be Hiei?

Firebird Sweet C4: The Arrogance of the Tango  
by  
Kenshin

Kuwabara kept shooting her nervous glances. "You sure you wanna  
do this?"

"I'm sure." Shayla Kidd had an idea---a wicked pistol of an  
idea, and she was going to see it through, no matter what.

Kuwabara tried to dissuade her once more: "Parts of it get pretty  
rough."

"So you've said a dozen times." She slid onto the sofa, next to  
him. "You'll warn me in time, won't you, Niichan?"

"Well. If you're sure..."

She was sure. Kuwabara, on the other hand, wasn't.

They had returned from America not long ago--just enough time to  
shake free of jet lag and snare some oni, and she looked  
different from when she had first met the boys. Hair-hopper  
cousin Kathleen had treated her to a new cut, which framed her  
face in gentle spikes. Shayla had refused Kath's offer of a  
salon coloring job; when your hair comes in natural streaks of  
red, gold and copper, you thank God and leave well enough alone.

Shayla Kidd and Kuwabara Kazuma, in the Kuwabara living room in  
front of the big TV. Snacks on board, Kuwa-chan with remote in  
hand; the tape ready in the VCR, its Deluxe Edition box on the  
coffee table before them, next to a packet of wasabi peas.

Living in Japan took a bit of getting used to. On the one hand,  
she was separated from friends and family. On the other, she was  
surrounded by new friends and new family, not the least of whom  
were the growing twins within her. She could now easily sense  
their presence.

Thankful she had not yet reached the throwing-up stage, she  
wondered whether hurling Japanese food would feel different from  
hurling American food.

Sushi, miso soup, yaki udon, the rice cracker snacks that were  
popular even in American supermarkets: these were old friends.  
But fast food tasted---different. She wasn't sure how, but it  
did, as did the bread. She supposed she could try to make her  
own, but it wouldn't taste like home.

This is home now, she reminded herself, studying, with a great  
deal of affection, the hulking kid next to her.

At age 22, she was far older than Kuwabara. In fact, she was  
three years older than Hiei himself. Astonishing, but true.

Yet Hiei seemed the elder; on their first meeting she had guessed  
him to be anywhere from his early 20s to mid-30s. That  
assessment had nothing to do with the condition of his skin, but  
his bearing, and the look in his eye. It was the look of one who  
has survived many battles, those she was about to witness not the  
least of them.

She was still unsure whether she had fallen for those eyes, or  
that heavy purr of a voice, or Hiei's scent of blackberries and  
evergreens, or something else altogether, but she'd fallen with  
an audible crash whose echoes still blistered in her blood.

She held a slight edge in knowledge and sophistication of some  
things human, like which song was charting in America.

In all else, Hiei was her superior.

Elbowing Kuwabara, she said, "Are you going to make me work the  
remote? I might run the risk of breaking it."

"Naah." Kuwa-chan pointed the little device at the screen, and  
the jagged intro music of the Dark Tournament Hiei Highlights  
Tape filled the room.

0-0-0-0-0

Genkai's temple in early spring was a fragrant showpiece of  
blooming flora that Hiei was certain Kurama would appreciate more  
than he did.

Right at the moment, he was focused on translating between two  
people who shared tea with him.

One person had faded hair that rippled in sea-waves to her  
shoulders, and canny, cynical eyes. The other, close-cropped  
graying hair, and black eyes that held more than a trace of  
devilment, witnessed by the fact that he employed language even  
Hiei found shocking in a man of the cloth.

On a lacquered tray sat green tea in deep ceramic mugs, refills  
awaiting in the fat brown pot.

Genkai raised an eyebrow at Hiei, then jerked her head toward the  
priest. Genkai's English was as shaky as Father Brian's Japanese  
was dreadful.

Hiei pushed one of the mugs toward Father Brian, who, while not a  
big man, hadn't been made for sitting Japanese-style. He didn't  
seem to know what to do with his elbows or knees or the square,  
work-scarred hands.

Genkai knelt like a pro, casting Hiei a heavy-lidded glance. She  
took a sip of tea. "So the little runt can't operate his Dragon.  
Too bad for you, I guess."

"Ma'am." Father Brian gave his tea a suspicious sniff, then set  
it down untasted. "We were hopin' that yourself and us together  
might be able to come up with a strategy. We can hardly leave  
this poor lad defenseless now, can we."

Hiei downed his tea at a gulp. "Father Brian says I can no  
longer summon the flames of Makai, but I can use Holy Fire. He  
believes the Dragon can be eventually retrained to channel this."

"Good luck with that, Small Stuff." Genkai poured herself  
another mug of tea and lit a cigarette.

Father Brian scowled. "You mean that in all your long years of  
studyin' aura power you haven't heard of a shortcut?"

Genkai snorted, smoke dribbling from her nostrils as though she  
were a dragon herself.

Hiei rose.

Father Brian followed his movements, appearing as close to panic  
as Hiei had ever seen him. "An' just where do you think you're  
goin,' lad?"

"Outside. Also providing you with an unparalleled opportunity to  
improve your command of Japanese."

Father Brian heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Which would go  
better if lubricated with a shot of whisky."

"I'm sure Master Genkai has some old sake lying around she can  
let you have." Hiei slid open the paper screen. "I'll leave you  
two to work out the details."

Outside, he flicked from tree to tree until he reached a clearing  
close to where he had once discovered three Raptor-type demons  
hiding in a cave.

Although they might have provided a good target for his Dragon,  
they were unavailable for the mission, having been sent to the  
afterlife by Hiei and Kurama.

Hiei didn't think he was particularly blind to his own faults: a  
certain arrogance, a self-containment, a good sprinkling of  
sarcasm, a hefty shot of rage.

But such things could also be strengths.

He hooked a finger between the skin of his upper arm and the  
black gauntlet that warded it. In a single movement, he stripped  
off the ward.

There it lay, as inert as ink and as useful as a bar of soap at a  
hippie convention.

"You," he addressed his Dragon, "are going to listen to me, like  
it or not."

0-0-0-0-0

Inside the cave there were no more Raptors, true. But it was not  
entirely empty of demons.

A small jaki, distinguished by a broken nose, a patch of rufous  
head-fur that resembled a badly barbered Mohawk, and a lively,  
prehensile tail, blinked up at a purple oni who was distinguished  
by nothing in particular, but who nevertheless towered over him.

"He's here," said the jaki, unnecessarily. "That little demon."  
The jaki held a video camera in both shaky hands.

The oni's sole acknowledgment was to grunt and scratch himself.

"G-gonna go now, okay?" No answer. Gulping hard, the jaki  
darted from the cave, camera still in hand.

0-0-0-0-0

Shayla Kidd blinked at the television screen, her mind racing.  
"I've seen enough," she said. "Please."

She turned her face away. The soft click of the remote told her  
there was no further danger of viewing blood and mayhem, but she  
sat for a while saying nothing, alternately crumpling and  
smoothing out her empty bag of wasabi peas. Glancing down at her  
still-sleek midsection, she thought: Sorry I had to put you  
through this, little ones.

Kuwabara pressed a can of green tea into her hands. "You all  
right?"

Shrugging, Shayla Kidd let out a long breath that stirred her  
hair. If she hadn't already known the outcome of the tournament,  
it would have been harder viewing. As it was, hard enough to  
watch her demon being sliced and diced by enemy thugs.

And they were indeed thugs. At least, the ones Hiei had battled.  
Even against the deadly backdrop of the Dark Tournament, there  
were demons who could hardly be considered evil---Chuu, Rinku,  
Jin, each becoming friendly with Urameshi Yuusuke, each in some  
way helping Yuusuke's team.

But far too many demons represented a threat to the innocent.  
This is what we fight against, she silently told the twins, then  
gave a little shiver.

Supposing one of those not-so-nice demons came after her kids?

A Bui, a Kuromomotaro? Not impossible. Hiei was a target for  
such killers. Zeru. Toguro Elder. Karasu. Their ferocious  
brutality, their delight in bloodshed. White Sands Serpent--of  
whom she had personal experience---and his penchant for toying  
with his victims. All these things instilled in her a sense of  
dread and horror.

An orphan herself, having just found a place in life, she could  
not bear the loss of her beloved new family.

She laid a hand on her belly, calling the twins by their pet  
names: Don't worry, Jellybean, Starfish. Mommy won't let the  
bad demons get you.

"I warned you, didn't I?" muttered Kuwabara.

She shook herself out of it. "That you did, Niichan." She  
squeezed Kuwabara's arm. "And it's hardly your fault I get  
queasy at the sight of blood."

"Naah, you did real well."

Kuwabara Shizuru wandered in, trailing a coat and her inevitable  
cigarette. The sleepy-eyed honey blonde glanced at the title on  
the tape's box, then rounded on her brother, all traces of  
languor and detachment gone. "You idiot! Why are you making  
Shay-san watch such a thing in her condition?"

Shrinking back, Kuwabara turned red. "B-but, Sister," he  
stuttered.

"It was my idea," Shayla cut in.

Shizuru raised an eyebrow.

"You guys all got to see it live," she offered, her palm raised.  
"I missed out. Kind of makes me feel like I came in on the third  
act of the play."

"Well?" Shizuru tossed her coat over one shoulder. "Did you see  
what you wanted to see?"

"That and more," Shayla assured her, then held her council while  
Shizuru slid out the front door.

When the door closed Kuwa-chan turned to her. "Hey. We all know  
you hate the sight of blood. So how come you wanted to watch  
Hiei's fights?"

"Because any man who could do that---" She nodded at the  
darkened TV set. "Any man who could tame the Black Dragon can  
certainly accomplish what I have in mind."

"Which is?" Kuwabara gulped down a can of soda. "C'mon,  
Neesan---gonna let me in on your secret?"

"You bet." She had an idea. Make that a double, and the second  
would need all the boys together, but---

Well. One idea at a time. "I've got a little bee in my bonnet,"  
she told Kuwa-chan, "and I'm going to need your help."

"You can count on it."

"And your secrecy."

"Whoah." Kuwabara scratched his head. "I dunno. I can kinda  
sometimes let stuff slip out without meaning to."

"I don't want the others knowing. Not Yuusuke, not Kurama, not  
even your sister."

A broad grin spread over Kuwabara's face. "Y'mean I'll be the  
only one who's in on it?"

She nodded. "That's right."

Kuwabara shot up from the couch, a conspiratorial gleam in his  
eye. He pumped a fist into the air. "Sugeee!"

"I surmised as much," she said.

Whereupon Kuwabara delightedly informed her that he knew what  
'surmised' meant.

She took a gulp of green tea, suddenly filled with an excitement,  
an anticipation, she had not felt in years. "I surmised as  
much." Her smile matched his, tooth for tooth.

0-0-0-0-0

That same afternoon, Hiei returned to the Kuwabara residence, not  
exactly in good spirits.

The Dragon hadn't responded. He was stuck with nothing more than  
an ugly tattoo covering most of his sword arm.

The air seemed tired and dull. I need a distraction, Hiei told  
himself, trudging up the stairs to their room. Just as his hand  
touched the knob, the phone rang in the upstairs hall.

He answered it.

"Konnichi wa an' congrats, my dear nephew-in-law."

The voice on the other end was sweet as molasses and seasoned  
with a generous pinch of amusement, much like the mahogany-haired  
former beauty queen who owned it.

"Aunt Carmel," Hiei said, mangling the name a bit.

The door opened. His firebird darted out, lips parted, gumdrop  
eyes glimmering with a look that boded well for him.

Seeing the phone pressed to his ear, she stopped. "Who's that?"  
she mouthed.

"Aunt Carmel," he said, into the phone. "Don't you want Shay-  
san?"

"Apparently," Aunt Carmel chuckled, "you sure did."

Mystified, Hiei could find nothing more useful to say than, "Beg  
pardon?"

"My, my my," Carmel went on. "Aren't we the fast worker."

"Maybe your niece can translate." Hiei handed the phone to Shay-  
san.

Who listened without speaking for quite some time, not a  
difficult feat given the chatterbox nature of the party on the  
other end. Finally she said good-bye and hung up.

She stood quietly, not meeting his eyes. This was never a good  
sign.

Then, her voice wired, she said, "That should have been my  
privilege."

Not this again, he thought. "What should?"

"Telling Carmel I'm expecting."

This time, she was not just play-angry. But what could be done?  
The thing had already occurred. "I told no one. Your uncle Paul  
is not stupid, though."

She fixed him with a stare colder than Kourime World on a  
winter's night. "You took that decision away from me."

Hiei grunted. In California he had spent a great deal of time  
talking with Uncle Paul: What do you feed kids once they're  
weaned? How do you know when they're wet? What if they cry?

'Hiei,' Paul had responded, 'Is there any particular reason you  
want this information?'

And for all that Hiei had said, 'In case I should be called upon  
to appear as a contestant on Random Useless Knowledge,' he could  
only go on in that vein for so long before even Kuwabara would  
catch wise.

"It's done." He shrugged. "Can't be undone."

"You didn't even consult me," she said.

"I needed information. I have no idea how to be a father."

"Easy. Just do the opposite of whatever was done to you."

He wanted to tell her, It's not that simple, but she had already  
turned her back and stalked into their room, shutting the door in  
his face.

0-0-0-0-0

One week had passed, during which time Shay-san had thawed toward  
him. Other differences had taken place as well.

The Charisma ballroom at the Anzu hotel, Hiei gazing down at his  
firebird.

She looked different tonight: dangerous, sophisticated, the fire-  
colored hair slicked back, the eyes limned with kohl and the lips  
vampire-red. In her ballgown she was like a candle-flame.

Hiei tore his gaze from her with reluctance, for he needed to  
scope out the competition---Couple Number 35---who had the  
misfortune to be placed next to them on the ballroom floor.

It was working. Man Number 35, a tall sleek number in a white  
spangled top, visibly gulped down his fear. Lady 35, equally  
tall and spangled in blue, caught his stare and flushed.

A word about the tango.

Originating in Argentina during the 18th century, it is the dance  
of arrogance, of disdain, of passion barely glimpsed but seething  
below the surface nonetheless. Flat, deep-kneed and close-held,  
with the man much in control, the International version features  
those signature head-snaps most people have come to associate  
with the tango.

Once danced in slums between men as a challenge, the tango  
eventually made its way to the tamer ground of the ballroom.

To Shay-san's evident shock, Hiei had agreed to her scheme at  
once, and not only to make certain things up to her. It was that  
aspect of fighting, of challenge, which had closed the sale.

Truthfully he enjoyed the head-snaps, enjoyed their dance  
sensei's astonishment when he picked up the game in mere days.

A dance between man and man is always of battle. But a dance  
between man and woman can also be of battle---with the additional  
level of desire.

He would bring to this interesting new challenge all that he knew  
of swordplay, and strategy. All he had absorbed from his verbal  
sparring with his firebird. And that complexity that can only  
arise from a mated pair.

"Earth to Dragon Boy." She interrupted the aria of his stare.  
"Don't you have any confidence in your game?"

"Touche," he muttered, and let the unfortunate Couple Number 35  
(who was really no competition at all) off the hook. "Tonight, I  
have no need for psychological warfare."

When you are a creature of fire and magic, there are days and  
nights when you know you cannot put a foot wrong.

This was one such night for Hiei. The first measure of music  
struck like a drawn sword.

Forward to right lunge. Recover. Tap, side tap. Corte. Recover.  
Tango draw.

Of all ballroom dances, the tango has perhaps the most demanding  
top line---the stance of the head, shoulders, arms. The head is  
drawn back and away from the dance partner. The upper body like  
a bow. Shay-san's flexibility, her astonishing ability to do a  
standing backbend, weighed in her favor. But Hiei had some  
astonishing flexibility of his own.

While he maneuvered her across the ballroom floor he checked  
(from the tail of his eye and between head-snaps) for reactions.

At a table just to the left of the judge's stand sat the people  
who had changed his life.

Shiori, a mother who had not thrown her son away, whose quiet  
strength Hiei could only begin to guess at. Keiko and Shizuru,  
alternately laughing and cheering. Kurama, first true ally and  
confidante, struggling to remain unreadable, giving up the  
struggle with open mouth and wide emerald eyes. Kuwabara, the  
idiot with a lion's heart, so happy to be the sole insider that  
he was standing up.

Lastly, over to Urameshi, whose fierce affection for Keiko and  
unbreakable sense of justice had defeated him---to his benefit.

But the Spirit Detective's reaction was worth everything. A  
genuine, full-on spit take, water streaming from his mouth.

What fun to shock them all.

Dragon gone. About to be a father. Why not go for broke,  
changing beyond recognition?

Alas. Time to focus on the battle.

Forward to semi. Serpiente. Whisk. Pick up. Run 2. Tango  
draw.

It was finished so quickly! For such an exhilarating battle, he  
wasn't even breathing hard.

Of course they won.

"Can you really make money doing this?" he side-lipped to her, as  
they accepted their applause.

She made a little noncommittal noise deep in her throat. Maybe  
she just had a hairball stuck there.

0-0-0-0-0

After they changed, returning to Lermontov their rented costumes,  
they hurried a few blocks over to join the party. Shizuru had  
booked a table at The Red Lantern, an unpretentious but reliable  
neighborhood restaurant. More than a table---a little back room  
all to itself.

The private room was curtained off from the rest of the place,  
with a large round table in the center. Shizuru was already  
enjoying a beer. Shiori, Kurama, Urameshi and Keiko had waited a  
bit more patiently. Kuwabara stood, arms folded, blocking part  
of the view.

There was a flurry of greetings.

Then----

Kuwabara laughed. Why was the idiot guffawing like that? Hiei  
focused on him and felt---

A cool touch of youki, friendly, not from an enemy. But who---

Yukina? For an instant Hiei was bewildered. Yukina's here?

She was. His sister had been hiding behind Kuwabara's bulk, but  
now she stepped out to greet him, clearly delighted, her round  
crimson eyes shining. "Niisan! I didn't know you could even do  
such a thing. How wonderful!"

"Yukina! What are you---" He bit it off, aware of how  
ungracious it sounded.

"Surprised?" asked Kuwabara.

Hiei flicked him a glance. "You could say that."

Then Yukina and Shay-san launched into identical ecstasies over  
ball-gowns and such, amplified by Keiko and echoed softly by  
Shiori, who caught Hiei's eye and gave him a wink.

His head was beginning to spin. It was one thing to battle in  
the arena of a ballroom, quite another to face the aftermath.

They settled down to the serious business of a party.

Shizuru, Keiko, and Yukina wondered about signing up for tango  
lessons themselves. Shiori beamed at Hiei. Urameshi rather  
predictably razzed him, while Kurama remained quiet, almost  
brooding, taking a second or two longer than usual to answer  
questions and supplying none of his own.

Kuwabara alternated watching Yukina and Hiei.

As for Hiei, he had a beer. And then another, and then finally  
dug into his tuna roll. The laughter and jeering broke over him  
in alternating waves. He finished the tuna, downed some gyoza,  
and then excused himself.

These days, Hiei handled crowd situations with more ease than he  
had during the impromptu card game at the Dark Tournament. Back  
then, he had flat-out refused to join in. He was better now, but  
occasionally, still felt the need to flee.

So much for change, Hiei thought ruefully.

The men's room was empty. He leaned against the wall adjacent to  
the sink, running through the past week.

Their dance sensei, a Russian emigre named Lermontov, had  
admitted them to his studio with a glare of suspicion.

Hiei matched the glare and raised it two.

'Too little! Both of you! Impossible!' Taller than Kuwabara,  
but built more along Kurama's lines, the Russian's accent was  
thicker than his bushy eyebrows. His red bandana and large gold  
hoop earring gave him a gypsy air that the dark, brooding  
countenance did nothing to dispel.

And then Shay-san had rattled off her resume. They had been  
permitted a brief demonstration.

Lermontov squinted suspiciously at Hiei. 'Where did you get such  
footwork?'

'I live or die by my footwork,' Hiei responded.

'Still impossible!" thundered the gypsy sensei. 'Is lucky for  
you my pro-am pair drops out of competition yesterday. But you  
cannot be ready in one week.'

And then Shay-san had pointed to Hiei. 'He's had a single lesson.  
One. He didn't even know what the tango was.'

The Russian had cursed a blue streak. 'Remains impossible,' he  
growled. 'But I take you on anyway.'

The door swung open. Hiei thought of hiding in a stall, then  
dismissed the impulse as cowardly.

It was Kuwabara.

"There you are, Shorty." The big idiot gave a ferocious scowl  
worthy of Lermontov himself.

Hiei lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "Why are you always chasing me  
into bathrooms? You getting a complex?"

"I thought you musta fallen in and drowned by accident."

An automated response leapt to Hiei's lips: Is it tough  
processing information through the six inches of concrete that  
comprises your skull?

But in his strange, quiet mood, what came out instead was: "We  
got off on the wrong foot, you and me. You were friendly and  
open to the alliance, then I had to ruin it by running my mouth."

Kuwabara looked down at Hiei. "Tell me somethin' I don't know.  
Still doesn't explain what's takin' so long."

Hiei sighed. In a way, he was glad it was Kuwabara who'd come  
after him. Urameshi Yuusuke would laugh it off; Kurama would  
overanalyze. "Just for one night, I wanted to see what it feels  
like to be---normal. But..."

The strong-boned face looked old and wise. "Doesn't work that  
way, does it?"

"No." The walls of the bathroom were dark brown, and felt  
somewhat claustrophobic. Hiei shook his head. "It doesn't."

"C'mon back, Shrimpboat. They're about to send a search party."

He followed Kuwabara out. In the hall Kuwabara stopped, turned,  
and fixed Hiei with a curious look.

"Hey, Runt---did you just get taller?"

Hiei gave a snort. "It's the shoes." Normally, he wore flat-  
heeled boots, or sometimes sneakers. He had neglected to change  
out from his tango shoes, which had a bit of a stacked heel.  
"Anyway I appreciate you bringing Yukina to watch us compete."

"You both looked good out there."

"You should see the bill for our clothes."

"Even though they're rented?"

Hiei rolled his eyes. "All I can say is we'd better find a way  
to make money, and fast."

0-0-0-0-0

That very same night, the fiery underworld king was holding court  
in his office digs, but Carlos was missing.

It was all right, though---the Boss knew where Carlos was, and  
had in fact issued a royal decree for Carlos to scout out a new  
location across town.

To accompany him, Carlos had selected one of the king's oni, and  
told it to meet him at the new location without mentioning the  
rendezvous to anyone, not even the Boss.

A large trench coat and voluminous hat provided the massive gray  
creature enough of a disguise in the dark, for the waterfront was  
all but empty at this hour.

This was a good thing, thought Carlos. There would be no  
witnesses.

The scuff of their footsteps as they prowled between rows of  
warehouses echoed the hollow slap of water on dock pilings. A  
horn sounded out to sea; there was fog that night. Tar and motor  
oil and the sulfur stink of the tides were their only companions,  
unless you counted the everpresent wharf rats.

The warehouses stood cheek-by-jowl, their peaked roofs making a  
jagged pattern against the heavy slate of the sky. The  
warehouses rented out for differing purposes: cargo storage,  
rehearsal halls, heavy-equipment lockers.

They reached one particular warehouse near the end, and Carlos  
held up a hand. The oni stopped.

"Which number you lookin' for, Chief?" asked the oni, whose name  
Carlos hadn't bothered to learn.

"This one," Carlos replied, nodding toward the building in front  
of him. "Four. Door's open." They stepped into its empty,  
echoing walls.

Warehouse Number 4 proved quite satisfactory. And the Boss  
wanted a warehouse, for any number of crackpot reasons, not the  
least of which had to do with that poor sap he was gaslighting.

The loss of their first Shifter in battle had curiously little  
effect on the Boss: 'We got another. No biggie,' he'd said, then  
stated that their target was tough and the encounter had gone  
much as expected.

The Boss sometimes surprised Carlos.

But the oni interrupted his reverie. "What'cha think of this  
dive, Chief?"

Carlos shrugged. A single warehouse had less room than the  
downtown digs, but had the advantage of being close to the water  
and away from prying eyes. It would store as much explosive  
equipment as they could wish ---not to mention the chopper when,  
as inevitable, escape became necessary.

Turning to his companion, Carlos said, "I want you to run a  
little errand." And went on to describe the whos and whats.

"Dunno, Chief." The oni scratched its head with long, sharp  
claws, reaching under its hat to do so. "The Boss okay it?"

Carlos had no particular compunctions against lying, but instead  
he dug into his pocket for a wad of cash that he handed the oni.  
He let that do his talking.

"Gotcha," said the hulking creature, and left the warehouse in  
search of his unsuspecting targets.

(To Be Continued: Coffee, croissants and killers)

-30-


	6. FS C5: Smash The Toe Box

Title: Firebird Sweet C5: Smash The Toe Box  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Sum: An enemy stalks Kurama and Yuusuke, while Hiei still has  
some surprises in store.

As always, thanks for reading this. I appreciate your reviews and comments!

Firebird Sweet C5: Smash The Toe Box  
by  
Kenshin

The hour was late.

In the streets between the Anzu hotel and the Red Lantern, a pair  
of drunken salarymen staggered toward a pair of boys: one boy  
dark-haired and dark-eyed, the other a redhead not entirely  
human.

The drunks were singing loudly (and badly, Kurama noted). He  
could not place the song, nor did he care to.

Kurama and Yuusuke were the last ones to leave the party at the  
Red Lantern.

Keiko had gone home early when Shiori left, Shizuru had acted as  
chaperone to Kuwabara and Yukina, with Shay-san and Hiei on their  
tails.

The taller of the drunks grabbed for Kurama's shirt. Kurama  
managed to be elsewhere.

"Hey," blurted the drunk, his voice billowing on a wave of sake  
fumes, "You kids shoul'n't be out thish late."

"Yeah," hiccuped the shorter man. "'S dangerous."

Kurama and Yuusuke exchanged eye-rolling glances, deftly stepped  
around the warbling drunks, and continued down the neon-lit  
streets.

They had gone the length of another block, when Kurama paused for  
a second, his scalp prickling.

Yellow alert.

"Wouldn't have thought Hiei had it in him," began Yuusuke.  
"Prancing around like that."

Kurama murmured in a noncommittal manner; ordinarily he would  
have welcomed the opportunity to dissect Hiei's psyche, but he  
was a bit preoccupied at the moment.

They were being followed.

Kurama also knew that the one following them had not been cast in  
the Jorge Saotome mold, or even those of the hapless creatures  
they had wrangled at the Crazy Dog Diner. For all Jorge's  
impressive size and strength, Kurama didn't believe Koenma-sama's  
right-hand oni would hurt a fly. And the four oni at the diner  
had been little more than tourists, lost and confused and making  
it on sheer bluster.

No, this one on their tail meant business. And nothing so  
innocent as selling junk bonds or knock-off Rolexes.

Kurama exchanged another glance with Yuusuke. Yuusuke gave an  
eyeblink of a response. The two of them strode down the street  
and cut into the nearest alley.

The oni followed. Kurama and Yuusuke reached the end of the  
alley, and turned. Backs to the wall, they could hardly count on  
the reeking garbage cans to provide much cover. Nevertheless,  
they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, facing their foe.

0-0-0-0-0

It was a long way from warehouse to "palace," and Carlos treated  
himself to a cab ride part of the way there. He might have  
ridden all the way, but many drivers disliked traveling to the  
notorious Myu-Myu Sector at night.

Carlos also wanted to approach the rose-brick building alone, and  
on foot. He chose the entrance that faced the alley; some of the  
filthy windows had been broken out, letting in barely enough  
light to see.

Automatically closing off his nose against the stench of rat  
urine, Carlos waited for his eyes to adjust. Across from him was  
the stairwell, and he didn't relish going up until they had.

The chunk of cash he'd handed over earlier at the warehouse was  
fat enough to impress the redshirt, yet not enough to set him  
back in any meaningful way.

Down the stairwell came the echoing scrape of footsteps. Alerted  
to possible danger, Carlos slunk to the wall in back of the  
stairwell and pressed himself flat against it. He could not see  
the source of the footsteps, but neither could they see him.

A triple stink of garlic, unwashed bodies and cigar smoke  
overrode the rat pee, announcing who it was. Carlos relaxed.  
Moving around to the front of the stairwell, he folded his arms  
and sighed. "Can't a guy get a moment's peace around here?"

The two men, vague bulky shapes on the gray stairwell, turned  
toward one another, then back to Carlos, shrugging.

"I forget," said Carlos, switching back from Japanese to the  
common language of the men. "Tell His Majesty we got the new  
hideout and I'm on my way up."

Answering in kind, the pair turned obediently away from Carlos,  
ascending the stairs. He watched them, waiting an extra few  
minutes after their footsteps could no longer be heard.

Then, easing himself onto the second step, Carlos tried to figure  
out what the crazy demon who paid his salary had in mind.

0-0-0-0-0

Kurama gazed up at the enemy, unflinching. The oni was a big  
one, somewhat over Jorge's size, taller by far than Kurama even  
as it crouched, clawed hands spread in a gesture that Kurama did  
not suppose was one of welcome.

Its skin was as gray as its trenchcoat, and in spiritual power it  
seemed low enough. Another innocent straggler, caught on the  
wrong side of the barrier?

Kurama didn't think so.

"Can we help you, pal?" inquired Yuusuke.

"Well," rumbled the oni. "You can both die quick. That'll save  
me a lotta trouble."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to comply," said Kurama.

"Yeah," added Yuusuke, powering up his rei-gun. "Dyin'  
quick---it's against our rules."

"Not mine," said the oni, its hands no longer empty, but curled  
around two jagged-edged knives, each of which was only a bit  
shorter than Hiei's katana. With a deft underhand throw it sent  
the twin blades flying toward their heads.

Kurama tracked their deadly progress, then was suddenly where his  
knife wasn't. It hit the wall behind them, leaving Yuusuke to  
snatch the other blade from mid-air.

"Cool." Yuusuke eyeballed the glinting metal in his hand. "We  
get prizes."

"Inferior workmanship, though," said Kurama, bending to heft the  
blade meant for him. "Hiei would turn up his nose."

The oni bared its fangs. "Hey, you jokers! Over here."

Kurama tilted his head at Yuusuke. "Did you hear a noise just  
now?"

"Nothin' important," sniffed Yuusuke. "Any lowlife who attacks  
without so much as a shout-out doesn't deserve to be heard."

Spitting on the pavement, the oni bellowed, "I'll teach you to  
disrespect me!"

"I believe you already have," said Kurama.

Without another grunt the oni charged them, barreling down the  
all-too-short length of the alley.

Yuusuke aimed his rei-gun at the oni's head.

But Kurama stepped forward, sliding a hand through his loaded  
hair. "Allow me," he said. "Less noise. Rose Whip!"

The thorned whip sang. The oni collapsed into pieces two steps  
away from them.

Kurama counted the oni chunks. They were too big simply to  
abandon in the alley, and it wouldn't do to leave evidence. No  
choice but to alert Koenma and wait for the forensics team. He  
looked at Yuusuke questioningly. "Another straggler?"

Yuusuke shook his head. "Naah. This guy meant business."

"A shame we couldn't have pried it out of him."

"And too bad Hiei's not here. A pile of ash means less  
paperwork."

"We hardly want to cap off Hiei's big night like this." Kurama  
shot the other boy a rather mournful glance. "But I don't think  
we've seen the last of these stalkers."

The boy gave Kurama a feral grin. "I sure hope not. Rei-gun's  
gettin' rusty."

0-0-0-0-0

Shayla had thought---for a minute or two, anyway---about having a  
Baby on Board sign sewed to her practice garb, but dismissed the  
idea as slightly tacky.

There are as many types of dance as dancers, and while Shayla  
Kidd had trained in ballet, jazz, tap, and ballroom, she had not  
trained in tacky.

Hiei, until his introduction to the tango some one-and-a-half  
weeks ago, had trained in cutting people up with his sword and  
then immolating them.

She could not quite see how this skill set was particularly  
related to dance, but Hiei insisted it was.

Nor was she anyone's idea of a prima ballerina, not even her own.  
That required a lifetime of sweat and sacrifice, coupled with a  
dedication equal to that of a Carmelite nun.

But she could turn a pretty musical phrase.

Late afternoon, in a back room of Lermontov's dance studio, she  
faced the slash-and-burn expert. Tongues of light licked the  
wooden floors, and the long, mirrored wall reflected a  
contemplative Hiei and a Shayla glancing at the clock. "Well?"  
she asked. "Want to prepare for the upcoming exhibition, or swab  
the decks?"

They had secured the use of the studio for a couple of hours by  
means of a promise to scrub it down; mop and broom stood inside a  
bucket against the wall farthest opposite the mirror. "Dance  
first, clean later," Hiei ordered.

"Your wish is my command." Dropping to the floor, she eased one  
foot into a new pointe shoe, then kicked it off. The toe box  
hadn't yet been softened, and teaching Hiei the new move would be  
uncomfortable enough; pointe shoes are made by crafting layers of  
fabric and glue to stiffen them so they can serve as a platform  
for standing on toe, but they have to be well broken-in before  
they are of use. She grabbed a different pair.

Hiei raised an eyebrow at the shoes she dangled by their well-  
worn ribbons.

"Oh, these old things?" Her most ancient pair, so battered and  
worn that the toe box barely made noise, nor provided support,  
the ribbons stitched and restitched, the toe cap darned dozens of  
times, the color of the satin faded from pink to almost white.  
Shoes made perfect by years of loving abuse.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "Those pieces of junk in  
your hand. You stuffed them in your backpack when we were on the  
run from the Serpent and brought them all the way across the  
ocean to Japan?"

"No," she corrected. "You did. You're the one who carried me,  
remember?"

"Ch." He cut his gaze away from her.

She thought a minute, then asked, "How often do you train with  
the katana?"

"Every day. Skip a day, I notice. Two days, enemy notices."

"Same here."

"Enemy and dance studio? They don't go together."

"That's what you think, Sword Boy. Or are you a different Hiei  
from the one who told me the tango is a battle?"

He rolled his eyes. "You going to show me this developpe thing  
or waste my time?"

"Both."

In the developpe, the working foot is drawn up to the supporting  
knee, then unfolded to an open position. Like many ballet  
movements, it is quite un-natural.

Think of the body as a clock with the supporting leg at the six.  
Some dancers can unfold the working leg to vertical: the 12  
position. This range of motion is known as a dancer's extension.

At times, the dance world seems to be caught up in extension-  
mania, as if only a sort of freakish double-jointedness worthy of  
a circus performer matters, as if musicality and stage presence  
count for nothing.

Still. Extension is as extension does.

And flexibility varies from dancer to dancer. As with any  
physical skill, some of it can be trained in, but the body does  
have its limits.

He gave an impatient snort as she explained all this while lacing  
up her shoes.

"Now, start with good turnout from first position," she  
instructed, lacing up a good thick Russian accent to go with her  
shoes. Placing one hand on the barre, she demonstrated the  
beginning stance: legs together, heels touching, toes pointing  
outward. "Turnout goes from hip, not knee. Bend working knee  
and lift. Point toe toward calf." She demonstrated each step as  
she cataloged it. "Maintain foot contact with leg as you lift  
with muscles of hip."

"Baka onna." Hiei folded his arms and leaned against the wall.  
"You're making fun of Lermontov or me?"

"Both."

"Good thing he's not here." He took a position facing her,  
disdaining to touch the barre for support, struck first position  
and drew his foot to knee level.

"Like this." She completed the developpe and extension, stopping  
when her extended leg was at the three position. "If you can get  
to here on your first try you're doing---KYAAA!"

Hiei hadn't even bothered unfolding his arms, but his supporting  
leg looked solid as oak. The working leg grazed his ear and  
beyond, the toe pointing skyward. Holding the position,  
seemingly without effort, the slash-and-burn expert shot her a  
smug glance. "Six o'clock. First try. Now go play some music."

0-0-0-0-0

Koenma's forensics team was still at work on the rogue oni, but  
there were no identifying labels in the clothes, and the knives  
were of commonplace Makai origin. The wad of cash they found  
stuffed in its pocket had been unmarked bills, wrapped in a  
material that yielded no prints.

Nor had Kurama seen much of Hiei since the fire demon and Shay-  
san returned from their brief vacation in California, not  
counting the round-up at the Crazy Dog Diner and the bizarre  
night at the Charisma ballroom.

Schoolwork kept him busy. And Kaasan---

He sat at his desk, clutching a pencil between his teeth, mulling  
over an essay his class had been assigned, an open notebook  
before him.

He was conscious now as he had not been in a long time that his  
mother worried about him, though she would not express it for  
fear of giving offense.

Nor would Kurama express the fact that he understood. Much of  
what he and Kaasan communicated to one another took place in the  
realm of the implicit. But in order to allay her fears, Kurama  
stayed close to home, and kept fairly regular hours, making a  
point to tell her where he was going and when.

He took the pencil from his mouth, squinting at the slightly-  
dampened eraser. The essay was to be composed in English. For  
one waggish moment, Kurama thought of recounting the team's  
adventures against White Sands Serpent---then turning it in to  
his English sensei, innocent and liquid-eyed: "But I thought  
you'd assigned a piece of fiction."

No. Safer to stay in shallow waters. Perhaps an essay about  
getting to know an actual American. Shay-san would not mind. He  
sighed. Hiei, on the other hand---

No. One could live one's entire life in fear, never venturing  
farther than one's own bedroom, only to be killed by a plane  
crashing through the roof.

Kurama began scribbling a draft about America in general and one  
little American in particular. Shay-san could even check his  
grammar and idiom, though he was confident of it.

Then the phone rang. "I'll get it, Kaasan," he called, and went  
to pick it up.

"Kurama?" Though there was music blaring in the background, he  
could tell it was the subject of his essay on the other end;  
Shay-san's voice sounded strained, even frightened; her fear  
transmitted itself to him through the wire. "Can you come to the  
studio? Now?"

Had Hiei gone missing? Had another oni or something worse found  
its way to Lermontov's digs?

Kurama said, "On my way," and grabbed for his jacket even as he  
hung up the phone.

He did manage to wave good-bye to Kaasan, give her a cheery  
smile, and reassure her he was headed to no place more dangerous  
than the gypsy's dance studio.

When he arrived, he found Shay-san huddled on the floor, as if  
the weight of music from the nearby boom box had flattened her,  
and though the studio was quite warm she was wrapped in a shawl.  
She was also staring at Hiei, who was apparently both present and  
intact.

Kurama could see why. Hiei was dancing. And not the sparse,  
savagely controlled footwork and body line of the tango.

The fire demon was a Tasmanian devil, a whirling dervish, a  
warrior battling invisible foes. Kurama recognized the song, one  
of Megallica's many hits. 'Nuts and Bolts' featured a foursquare  
beat with a throbbing bass line and little to recommend it in the  
way of melodic development.

Hiei's moves had not the slightest taint of feyness---a  
combination of rigorous ballet jumps, and the stances Kurama had  
seen him deploy in battle. He was particularly reminded of the  
leaps and tumbles Hiei had used in evading Seiryuu's ice attacks  
back in Labyrinth Castle.

And Hiei was working flat-out, right up to the redline, no  
holding back. It was an enormous expenditure of energy.

Hiei did not seem to notice as Kurama joined the little subject-  
of-his-essay gaijin on the floor.

Nor did Kurama have to ask her what was wrong. "Bullets can't  
stop him," she said.

"I assume you've tried."

"Left my gun at home, darn the luck."

Kurama followed her gaze to the still-churning Hiei. "You don't  
happen to know whether Hiei had a dance instructor in Makai?" she  
asked, close to his ear. "Realizing how a little thing like that  
just might possibly slip his mind."

"Maybe he swallowed a handful of Mexican Jumping Beans," Kurama  
said back into her ear.

"Because I turned on the music and this---" she nodded in Hiei's  
direction, which was no easy task as Hiei's direction changed  
with every beat of the music, "---this came out." She chewed on a  
thumbnail, her eyes like gray saucers.

"So naturally you're terrified."

She shrugged. "Learning the tango was one thing. Reproducing  
steps we were both taught. I knew he'd be good at that. Hiei  
could drive my old Jeep after watching me do it once. But this?"

Hiei was a fast learner, true. And it was not surprising to see  
him move well; he'd always possessed great agility, and no one  
ever questioned his athleticism.

"Have you tried pulling the plug?" Reaching forward, Kurama shut  
off the boom box.

Hiei stopped. "Nuts," said the fire demon, flicking forward to  
turn it on again.

"See?" Kurama turned a reassuring smile on Shay-san. "He's like  
a wind-up toy," he explained. "That simple. Play the music and  
he goes."

"Oh, really? Then how does he manage to be so 'on' the music?"

Kurama pondered: Is this merely Hiei's well-known speed? Is he  
somehow 'pre-hearing' the music? And is this really so  
uncharacteristic of him? I've known him for what---two years?

Kurama followed Hiei's movements on the dance floor, extending  
his senses. Still Hiei. No doppelganger, no shape-shifter. The  
ki was Hiei's own, both familiar and stubborn.

"Hiei." Kurama had to call out twice to claim his attention.  
"When, er, that is, where did you, er, study---?"

Hiei was breathing a bit hard, but he looked as gleeful as when  
he was hacking through a squadron of enemy fighters. "Library,"  
he said dismissively and in mid-air, as if people did that every  
day and then could perform by osmosis. "They have films. All  
kinds of dance steps."

Kurama began to wonder whether he shouldn't change the subject of  
his English essay to Dancing Hiei. "But how are you managing  
to---"

Another song cut Kurama off, one he did not recognize, a quicker  
tempo, a softer melodic line. Hiei whirled into a series of  
dizzying turns. "The music tells me what to do," he said.  
"Can't you hear it? Jump here, spin there. Go into a t-stand.  
Walkover. Full side split."

"Okay, okay, okay." Rising, Kurama caught at the fire demon's  
spinning shoulders---and was promptly bowled over for his pains.

"You can stop now," Kurama said drily, picking himself up off the  
floor.

"Why? It's fun. And good exercise." Snatching up a broomstick  
from the corner, Hiei used it in lieu of a katana. "Down on  
right knee, defensive posture. Don't tell me you can't hear it,  
kit," he said, in sync with the song. "Then up, attack front,  
spin away, forward leap."

Kurama blinked. So. The Night of the Tango had not been a  
fluke. Dancing Hiei, unleashed on an unsuspecting public. "What  
on earth have you set into motion?"

"Better be something with a paycheck attached," Hiei said,  
blazing past them both, leaving them gaping at the holes he made  
in space.

0-0-0-0-0

The first chords tolled like bells in the Charisma ballroom.

Just before sinking into that sinuous and remarkable U-bend,  
Hiei's firebird smacked him with a long, wicked, side glance.

He was unable to watch her perform that backbend and tolerate  
that look without thinking about other things. "Stupid woman,"  
he hissed at her. "You will force me to perform in a state that  
is a public disgrace."

If she heard him, she did not see fit to dignify it with a  
response.

He pulled her up and the dance began for real, with a tempo  
change and a series of head-snaps. Good hip contact. Razor  
footwork, arrogant top line.

Her body seemed to be made for his (as was true in things other  
than dancing. And so for the reverse: how she responded to the  
direction of his dance frame and footwork informed his own  
responses to her.

He challenged. She sparred. The bass beat pounded them around  
the floor, and then the musical theme lightened, and she became  
more playful, he apologetic. No redline here; the number would  
last a minute-thirty at most, and they were nearly there now.  
Two measures, repeating the second theme.

Now, reconciliation. She dropped to her knees before him, hands  
still clutching at his shoulders...

He presented her to the crowd, and she blew a kiss to their

cheering section (Shiori, Kurama, Yuusuke and Keiko---his sister  
and the idiot were absent, which would bear further scrutiny).

Shay-san was breathing a bit hard, and he glanced over, raising  
an eyebrow, but she waved away his concern.

As for the dance. It wasn't the tango, not exactly. And since  
this was an exhibition, not a competition, there was wiggle room;  
they had changed the choreography at the last possible second,  
almost by telepathy, and Hiei could detect Lermontov's  
anger---their sensei was watching from another table.

Already the constraints of ballroom had begun to chafe him.

'The music doesn't say to do that,' Hiei would point out to  
Lermontov.

'Who is teacher here?' The Russian matched Hiei glare for glare,  
and his glare was taller. 'Music says do what I tell you.'

Inevitably, this conflict would lead to a parting of the ways.  
Regrettable, but it was what it was.

Lermontov rose from his table and slipped from the ballroom, a  
frozen grin on his face. This did not bode well.

As Hiei suspected, Lermontov awaited them in a towering silence  
as they made their exit. Hiei could do the towering silence  
thing as well as anyone. He steered Shay-san toward their  
dressing room, Lermontov in menacing attendance.

But the performance had gone well. Hiei wasn't even winded. He  
flicked a glance at his firebird; she kept her gaze fixed  
straight ahead. Maybe she wanted out of her tight-fitting gown.

Their footsteps whispered against deep carpeting. When Hiei felt  
a flick of unease that had nothing to do with the Russian's cold  
rage, he stopped.

Blink. He saw his firebird, broken and bleeding on the pavement.  
Heard the wail of sirens, smelled smoke.

Blink.

They were indoors, in the clean, quiet hallway leading to the  
dressing room. But Shay-san---!

She clutched at her mid-section, ghostly-pale. Pressing her lips  
together to bite back a cry of pain that even Hiei could feel,  
she sagged against him.

Hiei's throat went dry. The blood slammed to his toes.

Unwilling to leave her, he snarled at Lermontov to call  
Kurama---and the doctor.

0-0-0-0-0

Kurama yawned.

Stretching, he got up from his chair just outside the dressing  
room, and shook out the stiffness in his legs.

At the far end of the carpeted hall, a maid pushed her cart of  
cleaning supplies, beginning her rounds.

From the dressing room came the sounds of waking. A murmur of  
voices, the rustle of clothes being pulled on.

At any moment, Hiei and Shay-san might emerge. Kurama did not  
want them to catch him there.

The pain Shay-san had experienced proved, to everyone's exquisite  
relief, to be nothing more than a deep muscle pull.

Smith-sensei (Kurama occasionally did the odd job for him as  
office boy and general assistant) had been called in, had scolded  
Shay-san for doing backbends without a thorough warm-up. Then  
Smith had given her a mild muscle relaxer, and ordered her to  
stay put for the night.

Which meant that Hiei stayed put also.

Kurama left the hotel, pausing just outside the entrance. The  
sky an opalescent blue, with a promise of warmth to come;  
enticing scents of fresh rolls and cinnamon from a nearby bakery  
wafted past. He was starving.

"Oi, Kurama!"

He turned. Yuusuke was grinning at him, leaning against the  
facade of the hotel. "Wanna get something to eat?"

"You read my mind." They fell into step together.

"So you were inside all night?" Yuusuke tried unsuccessfully to  
stifle a yawn.

"As were you."

"Wrong answer, fox-boy. I was covering the outside."

"Standing guard?"

Yuusuke nodded. "I figured what with that bad-ass aura at the  
Pachinko parlor, and then the oni attack---"

"That was my thought, too. I didn't want to leave them  
unguarded." To Kurama's regret, Yuusuke led him past the bakery  
to a coffee shop around the corner.

Well. Perhaps even better. The scents just as mouth-watering:  
butter and almond paste and freshly-brewed coffee. A place to  
sit, to mull over what had transpired.

Yuusuke ordered two coffees and a plate of croissants. Once  
their food arrived, Kurama dipped a flat wooden stirring stick  
into his coffee, then licked the caffeinated end before stabbing  
it into a croissant.

Yuusuke dug into his first croissant and continued, in a rather  
food-muffled voice: "You stood guard inside?"

Kurama nodded, working to swallow his oversized bite of  
croissant; flaky and crisp and buttery all at once. He made a  
mental note to return to the place soon. "Right at their  
dressing room door."

"Sooo ..." Yuusuke's dark eyes glinted. "Didja catch 'em doin'  
it?"

Kurama put his coffee cup down with a clatter. "Do try to be a  
bit less disgusting so early in the morning, Yuusuke."

The other boy snickered at Kurama's shudder of discomfort. "So  
they weren't goin' at it like weasels on a hot plate?"

"You have such a way with words."

"Well? Were they?"

"No." Kurama glanced outside, wondering exactly how to put it.  
More foot traffic streamed past, as the city shook itself awake.  
"Hiei---" Kurama paused for breath. "He was singing."

Yuusuke goggled. "I'm sorry. My mouth was full. Hiei was  
WHAT?"

"Singing."

"Singing. You mean like when you move your lips and stuff comes  
out that's like a melody?"

Kurama nodded. "The song being Ue Wo Muite Arukou: I Look Up As  
I Walk."

"Ohh, man!" Yuusuke's fist crashed down. "I know that one! My  
mom listens to it over and over and then cries in her sake."

Kurama stirred his cooling coffee. Kyu Sakamoto's ballad was the  
only Japanese song to have charted in America, where, Shay-san  
informed him, they had inexplicably changed the title to  
'Sukiyaki.'

Kyu Sakamoto, who had died in a plane crash. An odd little  
shiver ran through Kurama.

"And then he sang something I had never heard before," Kurama  
went on. "A similar melody--but not exactly. Something about a  
whistle. He was singing very softly. I couldn't tell."

"Can't picture that at all." Yuusuke helped himself to Kurama's  
second croissant. "Hiei refused to participate in the Great  
Karaoke Wars, 'member? Maybe it's something that charted in  
Makai. You should ask him."

Kurama gave a slow smile. "And have Hiei threaten to feed my  
head to my neck again?"

He turned his face to the window, watching the pedestrian stream,  
and the beginnings of the rush hour. At last he spoke, but only  
in a murmur: "Actually, he sounded ... nice."

0-0-0-0-0

'ArtDance Tokyo: Around Town---

Jaganshi Hiei exhibits no modesty whatever.

He is using the back room of the Lermontov dance studio along  
with his wife, the American Shayla Kidd. They are here due to a  
string of good luck which culminates with an offer from director  
Yukawa Kenji to perform in the video of Ibuki's newest pop  
single, 'Smile In Your Heart.'

Frowning into the mirror, Jaganshi yanks up his shirt,  
simultaneously yanking down the waistband of his pants, exposing  
a washboard mid-section. "Camera angle front right," he murmurs.  
He keeps a soft count, grinding out a series of hip isolations:  
"Two, three, left, right, left, snap front, turn."

Nor is he shy about yanking off his pants altogether to check on  
the structural integrity of his knee wraps.

"Don't take pictures, okay?" he addresses the photographer. "I  
wouldn't do this if there was a lady present." Wicked grin.  
"Lady other than my wife."

Seated in the far corner, said wife snorts, then fusses with her  
shoes, one of three identical pair lined up next to her.

Jaganshi rolls his eyes. "She wears one pair of shoes for this  
turn, another for the chasse. But first she has me smash the toe  
box. Too much trouble. Why not go barefoot?"

Kicking off her shoes altogether, Kidd joins him in front of the  
mirror. If there is one rule of engagement, she explains, it's  
this: Whatever happens, don't stop.

In fluent if heavily-accented English, Jaganshi elaborates: "This  
dance has jazz steps, ballet, ballroom. I don't know how she  
makes it all work."

"It's a lighthearted song," the New Jersey native adds, in  
considerably better English.

They run through a brief practice whirl. Her moves are delicate,  
feminine, precise. His are powerful, fierce, wild, right out of  
Sleeping Beauty's famed Bluebird solo.

"Jumps, no problem," Jaganshi says. "Making it look good---" A  
shrug. "This number is very playful, very flirtatious. She  
flicks her skirt at me a lot. I think this will catch on."

The Japanese dance world seems to think so as well.

---Kagon Retsuzanshi'

Hiei handed the clipping back to Kurama. "Over the top much?"

They were sitting at a small table in The Silver Moon, the same  
busy coffee shop where Kurama and Yuusuke had shared their early-  
morning breakfast just a week ago.

Moving his cup and saucer aside, Kurama slid the clipping across  
the table to Hiei. "You wound me deeply."

Hiei mimed sticking a finger down his throat. "Reads like a  
commercial for Hiei Industries."

"That's what I had in mind."

"Don't you bat those baby greens at me. I think I'm losing  
consciousness from reading this swill."

"Well? Aren't you worried about money?"

"Ch." Hiei stuck a biscotti between his jaws and cracked it in  
half.

"Actually this began as an essay for a school assignment."

"You wrote about me in school? Say your prayers, kit."

"No. I wrote about Shay-san."

"In that case say a complete Rosary."

"However, I believe I nailed the modesty angle," said Kurama,  
blithely ignoring Hiei's deathglare.

"You never mentioned in the article you were also the  
photographer," Hiei accused.

"Please." Kurama hid his smile behind one hand. "Must I reveal  
everything to an uncaring public?"

Shaking his head, Hiei muttered, "You make me laugh."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Kurama tapped his breast  
pocket. "Should I bring my camera to rehearsal as well?"

"Should I inform you where you can shove that camera?"

Lermontov had, perhaps from a sense of misplaced guilt regarding  
the Great Muscle Pull Incident, introduced Hiei and Shay-san to  
the video director; even though they'd listed the seething  
Russian as co-choreographer, Lermontov's part in the rehearsals  
had thus far consisted of shouting, 'Is too jazzy! Stick to  
basics!'

Kaasan had been quite intrigued with the news, and asked to be  
allowed to watch a rehearsal. The video itself had not yet been  
shot; Kurama attended rehearsals as his schedule permitted. He  
waggled a finger at Hiei. "Someday you'll look back on this and  
thank me."

"Good pen name," Hiei said. Kurama gave an attempt at a blush.  
It was the name of one of his attacks: Splendid Slicing Branch.

Hiei indicated the clipping. "What did they pay you for this?"

"Not enough. And anyway this copy's yours."

Grunting, Hiei folded the clipping and stuck it underneath his  
saucer. "I get the feeling my firebird has something else  
planned. Something bigger than prancing around a ballroom." He  
took a swig of coffee, then put the cup down.

The clatter of dishes and the buzz of conversation suspended  
itself as Hiei slanted Kurama an unreadable look. "Something  
that involves you, too."

Kurama rolled his eyes. "I can hardly wait to find out."

-30-

(To be continued: A pair of schemes converging!)


	7. FS C6: Romantic Soldier, Take One

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C6: Romantic Soldier, Take One: Absolute  
Pitch  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: Just when you think you've got some privacy, somebody's  
watching you.

A/N: Thanks, again, to all of you who are reading, enjoying, and commenting.

D-natural above middle C spells trouble.

Firebird Sweet C6: Romantic Soldier, Take One: Absolute Pitch  
by  
Kenshin

It was dark outside the rose-brick palace of the demon king,  
where they were moving house.

By the sickly greenish light of fluorescent bulbs, minions  
hurried to stuff electronic equipment into packing crates and  
then scrawl chalk-marks on the boxes, denoting their content.

Carlos was acting as overseer; the Boss idled close by.

Out in the alley, a panel truck waited, already half-full. Once  
packing was completed, Carlos would drive it to the new location,  
the demon king safely inside. The remainder of the king's court  
would just have to wait until Carlos could return for them. That  
would take at least two trips, but they were sure to finish  
before dawn.

The building would not remain empty. 'I got plans,' the Boss had  
said to Carlos last night, when Carlos returned from securing the  
warehouse. 'Gonna leave a coupla guys behind to keep strays  
out.'

The Boss yawned, then glanced around the rapidly-emptying room.  
Carlos had seen this particular question coming.

"We got one oni short. Where's that oni? That gray one?"

"Dunno, Boss." Carlos managed a convincing shrug. "Maybe he went  
home to see his Mommy."

"Eh, plenty more where that came from." The Boss seemed to care  
very little for the missing 'person.' "We ready to roll?"

"Just about."

Of the gray oni's true fate, Carlos said nothing. He hadn't  
expected it to manage killing the fox-boy and the Spirit  
Detective, any more than the Boss had apparently expected the  
first Shaper to do away with their target.

Still, it was good to have an idea of an enemy's strengths and  
weaknesses in actual combat conditions.

Carlos liked to keep his options open. And what the Boss didn't  
know couldn't hurt Carlos.

Carlos understood that this demon king was more than just a touch  
nuts, but the pay couldn't be argued with. South America had  
permanently become too hot for Carlos to handle, and when this  
gig wrapped up, he might retire to Bangkok, or Spain, or even  
somewhere in the Persian Gulf. Any nice little place where  
people paid attention to the color of your money.

The Boss went back to watching that same tape loop, over and  
over: the target, carefully tucking away his Rosary, so as not to  
scare the 'demon kid.' Judging by how often the Boss played this  
loop, it was Number One on his hit parade.

"Worked once," the Boss muttered. "But the target ain't gonna  
fall for that trick again." The underworld king shifted a bit on  
his 'throne.' "An' the girl wears one too."

Carlos understood. The Rosary, being quite effective as a weapon  
against virtually every demon, did limit their options. He said  
as much.

"See, here's where you an' me are different," chuckled the Boss.  
"You see limits, I see possibilities."

"Human assassins," Carlos offered.

"Oh, sure. An' I got some good ideas as to who, an' when." The  
Boss went back to admiring the target's gullibility. "We'll just  
see how his precious Rosary protects him against..." The black  
eyes slid to Carlos, suddenly sly.

Bowing, Carlos backed respectfully away, then went elsewhere. It  
wasn't smart to lean on the Boss's good moods.

He kept an eye on the scurry of packing, because he was paid to  
function also as an overseer on Da Boss Man's plantation. The  
little water sprites huddled in a knot in one corner, trying to  
become invisible, and oni continued to stuff crates, while jaki  
snuffled around for food.

The king, seated on his office-chair-cum throne, licked one  
clawed finger.

Carlos felt an unwanted flash of sympathy for the target. He  
grunted, shook his head as though to rid himself of all such  
stupidity. That kind of thinking led to ruin.

Carlos turned to lend his strength of back to one of the smaller  
oni dutifully hefting equipment.

0-0-0-0-0

Following The Great Backbend Debacle, Hiei had told Shayla Kidd:  
"We need to find some way of making a living that does not  
involve you jumping up and down and bending over backward."

And that incident of the muscle pull, while it in no way  
endangered the twins, had scared Shayla out of her wits---far  
more than the discovery that Smith-sensei was himself a hanyou.

The good doctor had reassured Shayla that physical activity was  
fine if she was properly warmed up, in fact beneficial (fit  
mothers had an easier time during delivery). But she figured  
sitting at a worn-down piano for a spell couldn't hurt.

Besides, it was Operation Launch Grand Scheme, Part Two.

So, in the early morning hours, far across town from the Anzu  
hotel and the Charisma ballroom, safe from prying eyes, she and  
the boys huddled around a Yamaha grand piano, as if that would  
provide them the warmth the unheated warehouse lacked.

But it was precisely its lack of heat and run-down condition that  
put the rental of Warehouse Number 13 within reach.

It wasn't surprising that the warehouse was cold; heat rises, and  
the cavernous space loomed some two stories high, with narrow,  
railed-off catwalks pressed against each wall. Shayla, disliking  
all heights, eyed the catwalks uneasily. Hiei would think of  
them as a playground. So would the wharf rats.

"All righty then," she said, surveying the assembly, which  
consisted of a yawning Yuusuke, a cheerful Kuwabara, a placid  
Kurama and a noticeably sullen Hiei. "Shall we begin?"

"I am not doing this," insisted Hiei. "Tango is one thing. This  
is an outrage."

Shayla Kidd gave him her most brilliant smile, the one with  
daggers behind it. "Of course you're not," she soothed. "I just  
want to assess everyone's---standings. That's all."

Truthfully, she already had a sketchy idea of their 'standings:'  
Kurama, the front man who would prove irresistible to their  
target audience; Yuusuke and Kuwabara, two warrior types so boys  
would not gag; Hiei, the unknown factor.

She even knew the songs she would write: love songs, but not  
gluey, and a good measure of upbeat, fight songs.

No Megallica covers? a disappointed Kuwabara had asked.

No. Not their target audience. And the real money was to be  
made not in playing out or even recordings, but in royalties.

Shayla flexed her hands, running through a brief warm-up.  
Yuusuke and Kuwabara flanked the keyboard, while Kurama smiled at  
her from the end of the long, polished piano, and---

---Hiei flicked to the top of the piano to perch cross-legged,  
overlooking both her and the keyboard.

"For someone who won't 'do this,'" she informed him, "you're  
sitting awfully close to the action."

"I just want to keep an eye on you," Hiei muttered darkly.

"All righty then."

The Yamaha grand piano was only one of several instruments  
loitering in the depths of the warehouse, which was, to put it  
kindly, a dump smelling of machine oil and low tide.

There was also a drum set, which Yuusuke and Kuwabara had  
attacked in turn until she had pleaded with them to cease and  
desist, a few electric guitars of no particular pedigree, and  
several rusty-looking amplifiers. The piano, while yellowed of  
key and scratched of finish, was at least in tune, and clearly  
the showpiece of the whole motley assortment.

Music, in fact, was one area in which she might actually exceed  
the boys.

Shayla Kidd suspected she wasn't going to become a terribly good  
Spellcaster. She had come to the realization of her powers too  
late in life. But as for singing---that was as natural as  
breathing; she had been doing it in one form or another for most  
of her existence.

Yuusuke unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. "How 'bout we get  
started," he suggested. "While we're still young."

"All righty then. Can any of you play an instrument?"

"Does air guitar count?" Kuwabara struck an impressive pose and  
slammed out a series of silent riffs.

Yuusuke was already laughing so hard he had to cling to the side  
of the piano. "Didn't you just hear us maul the drums?"

"All righty then," she told Yuusuke. "I'll take that as a no."

"You didn't ask me," said Hiei.

She made her eyes go big and serious and gazed up at him.  
"Hiei. Can you play an instrument?"

"No."

Stifling a laugh, Kurama admitted to being able to strum a few  
guitar chords.

"As I suspected," she said, nodding. "Oh, well. That's why they  
invented studio musicians."

"Studio musicians cost money," Hiei grumbled. "Besides, what  
about when they play out? Suppose by some miracle these three  
manage to land a gig? What then?"

"For someone who doesn't want to do this," she said, "you seem to  
have an excellent grasp of the lingo."

"I'm just thinking of strategy," Hiei said, scowling.

She gave him another smile. "All righty then. Who here can  
write music?"

Hiei shifted ever so slightly.

"This is a joke, ain't it?" Yuusuke popped open a can of soda.

"Hey, put that down," said Kuwabara. "Remember what the lady  
here said about singing and diet. No bubbles, no cheese."

Yuusuke rolled his eyes. "Geez, Grandpa, you don't have to make  
it such a big deal." Nevertheless, he set the soda aside.

"All righty then," Shayla said. "I'll take that as a no from  
both you and Kuwa-chan." She shifted her gaze to the fox-boy.  
"What about you, Kurama?"

Kurama shook his head. "I'm afraid that's one of the few skills  
I lack."

"Are we done yet?" Hiei griped.

"Almost done," she crooned. "Who here can read music?"

From the manner in which Yuusuke and Kuwabara doubled over in  
laughter, she surmised not at all. As she'd suspected, Kurama  
said that he could struggle along. This was not unusual; Meiou  
Academy was an excellent private school, and its curriculum  
assured students of a well-rounded education.

And then...

Very slowly, Hiei lifted the forefinger of his right hand, then  
put it down again.

"Hiei?" She stared up at him.

"I can," he said.

"You---" She blinked, several times. "Where did you learn to  
read music?"

"In church," Hiei replied, staring down at the keyboard.

"In church." Perhaps this early in the morning there was  
something wrong with her hearing.

Hiei cleared his throat. "That first time I went with you. You  
know those things they have in church called missals?"

She nodded, woodenly.

"I figured out the black marks on the parallel lines corresponded  
to sounds people made," he continued. "Later on I figured out  
what the dots and curves meant."

She knew she was goggling out loud, but why should she be  
surprised? Hiei was, if nothing else, a fast learner. And  
didn't thieves (even former thieves) have to be good at  
deciphering code and reading maps? Was reading music all that  
different?

"And maybe also I can write it," he said, sub-audibly.

"Write it." She seemed doomed to repeat everything Hiei was  
saying. "Write what?"

Yuusuke and Kurama exchanged glances. Kurama covered his mouth  
in a discreet cough.

Hiei lowered his head. If she didn't know better, she would have  
said he was embarrassed.

Come to think of it, maybe she didn't know better.

"Later," Hiei muttered.

She cleared her throat. "A-all righty then. I'm just going to  
run you all through the scales."

"I hate when that happens," said Yuusuke.

"I need a better idea of where you are most comfortable in your  
range," she assured them. From back when Genkai took them to the  
karaoke club, she knew Yuusuke, Kuwabara and Kurama could all  
carry some sort of tune, but running scales would show her where  
their voices strained or whitened out, and make her job as  
songwriter somewhat easier. "Humor me and sing along."

"What should we sing?" Yuusuke inquired.

"Megallica!" Kuwabara tore up another air guitar riff.

"Anything," she said hastily. "A syllable. Just 'aaah.' I'm  
only trying to find your range. Playing scales. Doesn't even  
hurt. Who wants to go first?"

"Not me," said Hiei.

"Why not?" Yuusuke turned to Hiei, clearly puzzled. "Kurama  
said you sounded 'nice.'"

Kurama coughed, this time not-so-delicately.

"Ooops," murmured Yuusuke, vigorously rubbing the back of his  
neck.

"Oh?" Hiei cranked his head around to glare at Yuusuke and Kurama  
in turn. "And just exactly how does Fox-boy know what I sound  
like?"

"A-hem." Kurama gave Hiei one of his patented, wide-eyed  
innocent looks. "Perhaps I'm psychic."

"Poor Kurama." Still sitting cross-legged atop the piano, Hiei  
shook his head at the kitsune. "I hope you enjoyed your short  
life among the humans."

Kurama cast Shayla a pleading glance; she now saw his wisdom in  
taking up a position as far from Hiei as possible. "You will  
have your little jokes, Hiei," the fox-boy said.

"Who's joking?"

"No one is killing anyone today," she said firmly. But Hiei---  
"You were singing?" she asked him. "When?"

"Charisma dressing room." Hiei was apparently still fascinated  
with the piano's finish. "You must have been asleep."

"Asleep." Oh. Yes. That muscle relaxant of Dr. Smith's had  
knocked her unconscious. "Singing."

"I was just trying something out," Hiei muttered.

"Keh!" Yuusuke thundered. "Dancing Hiei is bad enough. I don't  
think I can survive singing Hiei."

"Oi, Urameshi!" Kuwabara scolded. "Just be grateful for the  
chance at fame."

"All---" The words stuck in her throat. She forced herself back  
to the matter at hand, taking Kurama, Kuwabara and Yuusuke  
through their scales, pausing now and then to jot comments in a  
little notebook.

She finished with the volunteers. Now to draft the unwilling  
recruit. "All righty then. Hiei?"

He yawned. "Save yourself the trouble. I'm most comfortable  
somewhere around D natural above middle C."

A chill straked her scalp, and she gripped the edge of the  
keyboard so hard her knuckles showed white. Not again, she  
thought. Prying her hand from the keyboard, she groped for a  
note with an icy forefinger, struck it. "What's this?"

"Second F flat above middle C," he replied.

Every nerve on end, she told herself firmly: Hiei can read  
upside down. Not an uncommon skill. I learned to do it back  
when I was looking for cheap apartments, sitting opposite the  
rental agent's desk.

From Hiei's perch atop the piano, reading the keyboard would  
prove a cinch.

"Kurama? " she said, striking another note. "Would you do the  
honors?"

With a lift of his eyebrow, Kurama replied. "C sharp?"

She shook her head.

"D natural above middle C," said Hiei. "You're trying to be  
funny."

Again, her scalp fizzed. She turned to the Spirit Detective.  
"Yuusuke?" Struck another note.

"No idea," Yuusuke replied.

"First B flat below middle C," said Hiei.

"I wasn't asking you," she said. "Kuwabara?" She struck another  
note.

"Is this a multiple choice test?" said Kuwabara.

Hiei snorted. "F sharp below---"

"Don't say it," she warned, and went back to whitening her  
knuckles on the edge of the keyboard.

Hiei was not a musician. He had told her when she first revealed  
this latest scheme, often and loudly.

Still--- "Hiei."

"What."

"Would you mind switching out with Kurama, and standing at the  
end of the piano, with your back to the keyboard?"

"Ch. Women and their quirks." Nevertheless, he hopped off the  
piano, and stood with his back to her.

"Do I have to sit on top of the piano?" Kurama's leaf-green eyes  
glittered with amusement. "I'm afraid I won't fit."

She didn't answer the quip, too immersed in what Hiei had just  
shown her. But even using the Jagan, there was no way he could  
see the keyboard now.

0-0-0-0-0

Down at dockside, a strong smell of salt air battles the raw  
stink of motor oil. Underscored by the creak and honk of the  
harbor at work, seagulls wheel and cry, diving for scraps of food  
in the dumpsters, competing with alley cats and jaki for the  
meager spoils of existence.

It was here, in Warehouse Number Four, that Hiei had battled  
Urameshi Yuusuke for both the Ghost Sword and the hostage Keiko.

And lost. Lost to the human, the boy with the pure heart,  
changing the fire demon's life, setting into motion a chain of  
events leading to today's musical excursion.

The warehouses along the harbor contained any number of  
surprises.

That very same warehouse where Hiei had faced off with Yuusuke  
was today just undergoing its last inspection, having become  
another hidey-hole of a demon who fancied himself a king.

As strongholds went, it wasn't much: a cavernous space like the  
rehearsal 'studio,' big and raw and empty, albeit lacking the  
rehearsal hall's musical instruments.

Instruments it had in plenty---of surveillance and stalking.

Jaki are not only small and quick, but their low level of spirit  
power make them difficult to detect. In the wild, they generally  
lose out in the battle for food to the seagull's flying ability  
and the alley cat's armaments, being human-shaped and ranging in  
size from that of a chipmunk to a small dog. But what they lack  
in strength they make up for in smarts; many of them are  
intelligent enough to be trained in the use of cameras.

A few of the demon king's subjects were there with him now,  
watching on an enormous monitor as an unsuspecting group of four  
boys and the one girl tinkered away on the piano.

This king had spies everywhere, from both the demon and human  
worlds. They were cheap to come by, and simple to dispose of  
should the need arise.

It had been relatively easy to steer the group of young ones to  
the warehouse practice space. And here, Carlos thought, lay an  
opportunity ripe with the fruits of early retirement.

He turned from the monitor. "Hey, Boss." Retirement in Bangkok,  
Carlos mused. That would be nice. Or maybe Bahrain, an island  
nation in the Persian Gulf. White sand beaches. "Now?" he  
inquired.

The king didn't respond, for his attention was still claimed by  
images of the target. Barrel-chested, fanged and clawed, he sat  
on an overturned packing crate, chuckling at the screen.

Carlos took a step closer. "How about it?" said the former drug  
runner. "They're all together in one place, like you wanted.  
Bing. One shot."

Against one wall, flanked by two oni who stood guard over it, was  
a suitcase containing a goodly amount of plastic explosive.  
Might even be enough there to blow another small hole in the  
barrier, a hole small enough to shove through one undersized  
demonic king---after the last paycheck cleared.

Carlos pointed to the suitcase. "You could get a water sprite or  
a jaki to slip some of this in. They'd never notice. Bang.  
Target acquired."

"Nah," said the King. "Ain't gonna do it that way."

Carlos licked his lips, frowned. "But, Boss... I figured you got  
them here so you could do them all at---"

"Ain't enough fun." The demon's black eyes narrowed.

Carlos knew that this creature was mercurial, often only a couple  
of steps away from cracking up, but something about today's move  
was making the Boss unusually tolerant. Maybe the nearby waters  
calmed him. It certainly made the water sprites happy. Taking a  
discreet chance, Carlos pressed on. "I don't get it."

"That ain't my style." The king gripped the edges of his  
'throne' with clawed hands, leaned forward, lowered his voice as  
to a fellow conspirator. "See, when I finally go for the kill,  
the brat's gotta know it's me. But first, he gotta watch me get  
his pals one by one, so's he'll know he's next."

"You hired me not only to pilot a chopper, but also to advise you  
now and then," Carlos reminded the Boss. "The risks increase if  
you keep putting it off---"

The demon silenced him with a look. "Anyways I'm stuck here for  
now. I gotta recover before I can blow the Barrier again, or I  
gotta watch for another way to get back in. Might as well get  
some kicks while I'm at it."

Carlos persisted. "Just a bit of that plastic could---"

"Shut up." The Boss yawned, displaying yellowed fangs that were  
nonetheless impressive.

OK. When it was time to stop, it was time to stop.

Shutting at once, Carlos jerked his head in the direction of a  
green oni, instructing it to be careful in locking the case of  
explosives inside a vault.

0-0-0-0-0

It was about an hour later in the rented practice space, and  
Shayla Kidd was in a cold sweat.

Her condition had nothing to do with the chilly warehouse, nor  
the fluctuating hormones of pregnancy, nor the fact that she was  
alone in a strange, possibly dangerous part of town.

Hiei had correctly tagged every note she played.

Absolute pitch. That's what Hiei possessed.

In a literate, arts-oriented country such as Japan, absolute  
pitch (the facility by which a person can identify musical notes  
from sound alone) isn't terribly uncommon. The percentage of  
people with absolute pitch will vary depending upon geographical  
location, from one in every 10,000 to one in every 20.

And there are two kinds---passive and active. Persons with  
active absolute pitch, in addition to being able to name any  
given musical note, are also able to sing such a note without the  
use of a musical instrument, or even a pitch pipe.

While this ability can come in handy for a musician, it is not  
necessary for starting nor sustaining a musical career,  
especially not in the field of pop music.

She was not quite certain why this discovery about Hiei made her  
uneasy. And he had hinted that he was able to write music.

Without training. That would make him a prodigy.

Yuusuke and Kuwabara had gone out for a "breath of air" --- more  
likely Yuusuke bumming a smoke---and Hiei had followed, and it  
was she who suggested to Kurama that wouldn't it be a good time  
to go and stretch his legs.

She wanted to be alone. Needed to think.

Absolute pitch.

She had it, of course. Had always been gifted with a 'quick  
ear.' But to think that Hiei also possessed that facility---

She laid a hand on her belly. "How 'bout that, you two," she  
said to Jellybean and Starfish. "Your Daddy. A prodigy. Well,  
of course he's a prodigy. But a musical prodigy?"

When difficult undertakings suddenly became too easy, it bothered  
her.

To secure such a cheap rental space right out of the  
gate---Lermontov had alerted them to the warehouse, after huffily  
refusing them the use of his dance studio for "making of  
noise"---and to discover that among the boys there existed a  
musician, untrained perhaps but still a musician, was a bit too  
facile to suit her Irish-Catholic upbringing.

Sure, one of life's purposes was the pursuit of happiness. But  
you were supposed to work for what you got. Nothing dropped into  
your lap out of the blue.

Stop that, she admonished. Hiei dropped into your lap out of the  
blue.

The warehouse door slid up with a warning rumble, flinging pale  
light onto the floor.

The boys had returned--Yuusuke smelling of cigarettes and  
somewhat sheepishly avoiding her gaze; Kuwabara munching on an  
energy bar; Kurama greeting her politely, and last, Hiei: X The  
Unknown.

Yuusuke retrieved the can of soda, which by now, had to be warm  
and flat as a tortilla. He sipped, pulled a face. Kuwabara  
giggled. Kurama remained at parade rest.

"Okay," Hiei said, flicking to the top of the piano again.

"You'll scratch the finish," she said absently, lifting the lid  
back off the keyboard.

"It's already scratched." Hiei sounded as though he was reigning  
in laughter. She looked up at him.

He met her gaze. His expression did not change, but she knew he  
was giving her one of his wide, invisible grins.

"Okay what?" she repeated.

"I'll do it," he said.

"You'll do---"

"Spoke to your uncle Paul."

Fine, she thought; I'll play straight man. "You'll speak to my  
uncle Paul?"

"Stupid woman. Spoke. Past tense. Just now." This time Hiei  
did not stifle his laugh. "I do know how to use a telephone," he  
reminded her. "Anyway, your uncle. He says we can make real  
money. So I'll be in your stupid boy band."

Yuusuke choked on his warm soda. Kuwabara pumped a fist in the  
air: "Yes! Fame at last!" Kurama stared at Hiei.

Who shrugged. "He loaned us a lot of money. I always said I  
would pay him back." Vaulting off the piano, Hiei strolled over  
to the rack of guitars, picked one up, and began, sans benefit of  
pitch pipe, to tune it.

0-0-0-0-0

Some time later, Kurama had amassed a collection of clippings,  
not all of which were of his own writing, and not all  
complimentary:

'Around The City---

Take two cheerful tenors, a breathy contralto, one brooding  
baritenor and a powerful mezzosoprano, and you have the reason  
why Romantic Soldier is not just your average boy band.

Playing at first for free in Youyougi Kouen, Romantic Soldier  
quickly found a flurry of paying venues, which show no signs of  
abating.'

'Swing Journal Japan---

"I don't think of myself as a musician. Telling what a note is  
and being able to reproduce it with your voice so it sounds good  
are two different things."

Yes, it's true that he can read and write music. But Romantic  
Soldier's Jaganshi Hiei isn't keen on being identified as a  
musical prodigy.

"Still," he continues, "I see dancing couples, trained ballroom  
professionals. Sometimes their routines have nothing to do with  
the structure of the music. I wonder what I hear that they  
don't. So about music---who knows?"

---Kagon Retsuzanshi'

'Tokyo Music Weekly---

Of all the nonentities foisted upon the local music scene this  
season, Romantic Soldier must be proud to claim the title of the  
biggest yawn. Derivative, overproduced, and lacking any  
distinctive voices, the tedious little boy band fails to exhibit  
any outstanding qualities, with the possible exception of the  
relentless and inexplicable hordes of shrieking fans.

--Kaitou's View From The Top'

Kurama folded the clippings into a sleek black binder and put the  
binder on his desk.

During this time of the band's initial success, Yuusuke and  
Kuwabara had wrangled one terrified adolescent youkai and turned  
it in to Koenma for processing. About the gray oni that had  
attacked them in the alley, it knew nothing.

0-0-0-0-0

This time, he woke from the dream dripping sweat.

Hiei pressed a hand to his chest, as if the thunder of his heart  
might awaken Shay-san.

He glanced over at her. A beam of moonlight played over the  
gentle rise and fall of the blanket, reassuring him that she was  
asleep, neither broken nor bleeding.

That was always the worst part of the dream: her horrific  
injuries.

Letting out a long sigh, Hiei wiped his sopping brow with the  
back of his hand. The half-open window beckoned him with the  
scent of night, and escape.

Running a tongue across dry lips, Hiei cast his restless gaze  
around the Kuwabara's spare room.

The room had been neatened from its earlier chaos to accommodate  
their presence: the boxes that had been piled everywhere were  
gone, and the bed, instead of being crammed against one wall, had  
been angled outward in the north corner of the room, which  
Shizuru had insisted was a favorable spot. Keiko had found them  
a cheap nightstand at a local flea market.

However, that When Life Hands You Lemons poster was still tacked  
to the wall opposite the bed, its edges brittle and curling.

So much for change, Hiei thought. But he had changed. This was  
undeniable.

In joining the Church, he had sought escape from Koenma's rule.  
Now, thanks to that very same Church, he found himself with twice  
the workload, and half the arsenal.

He was still unable to activate his Dragon or his Jaou Ensatsu  
Ken, and while his Jagan worked, it did not (nor had it ever been  
meant to) operate against higher-level demons.

Hiei was certain that a number of such demons had come through  
the barrier. He wondered who had created the hole.

He had his suspicions, and would test them soon enough.

The curtains stirred. In a flash he was out the window, settling  
into a branch of the nearest tree. From there, he could still  
keep an eye on the bed, and his sleeping firebird.

The breeze stroked his sweat-slick skin. He tipped back his head  
to drink in the moon: a mere nail-paring in the cobalt night, it  
yet filled him with a restless longing.

Blue. Color of ice. Color of Kourime.

Other changes had been wrought in his life as well. That stupid  
boy band was one. Still more astonishing: spending each day in  
the company of another, let alone sharing a bed, and liking it.

Five minutes, he could imagine his firebird saying. A half-smile  
played over his lips. Very well. In five minutes he would go  
back inside. They had a rehearsal in the morning.

0-0-0-0-0

"Boss?" Carlos indicated the newspaper in his hand.

"Yeah?" The demon king narrowed his black eyes, gazing down at  
his taller right-hand man by means of a platform of empty wooden  
pallets that supported his old 'throne'.

Late afternoon, inside Warehouse Number Four, quite some time  
following their move. The Boss had insisted that Carlos read a  
certain newspaper.

Carlos, not being suicidal, had complied. Finished now, he shot  
a scornful glance at the artsy-fartsy rag and put it down in  
favor of something much more to his liking---a curry bun. Taking  
half of it at a bite, he said around the mouthful of spicy food,  
"Don't quite get what this music stuff has to do with your plan."

The Boss gave a fat, wet chuckle. "That's why I'm in charge an'  
you ain't."

"I understand, but---"

Good thing the Boss was not in a sour mood. "See, you don't  
understand nothin'. You don't see none of the possibilities."

Shrugging, Carlos said, "Guess not."

"You got your boys gonna be famous." The Boss ticked off each  
item on one claw. "You got your girl's gonna be a mommy. You  
got your friends and stuff who you rely on. You got your  
target's sister. Which make your target happy."

Carlos favored the Boss with a patently blank stare.

One of the jaki---the one with the ginger-colored tuft of fur  
between its ears, the one that had shot footage of the target  
failing to activate his weapon---sat begging for scraps of the  
bun. Carlos ignored it. "I'm still not following, Boss."

"That's why you're Number Two here. Not that you ain't got your  
uses---seein' how I ain't able to wander the streets to buy no  
ancient chopper an' no case fulla plastic explosives or rent no  
warehouse or such."

"Thanks," said Carlos.

"Can't you even figure this out?"

"Guess not."

"Look, it's like this. When you give someone stuff that makes  
him happy, an' then you take it all away bit by bit, you're gonna  
make him very, very unhappy."

"That's why you're the boss, Boss." Shrugging, Carlos ambled to  
the opposite end of the warehouse, where a rickety card table  
seated a couple of redshirts playing dice.

Carlos knew the dice had been made from human bones. He had seen  
worse things in the slums of Brazil.

Ceding the table to their superior, the oni took the dice to  
another corner. But the ginger-tufted jaki hopped up, still  
begging in a needy little voice that got on his last nerve.

"Shoo," said Carlos. The jaki squeaked and fled. Carlos set to  
work finishing his curry bun.

While gulls wheeled and cried their petitions outside, he  
pondered the Boss' elaborate scheme to build up the target.

If it were up to him, he would just kill the poor sap and be done  
with it.

-30-

(To be continued: Kurama proposes a dangerous gambit!) 


	8. FS C7: The Heartblade Gambit

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C7: The Heartblade Gambit  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: While the enemy plots and plans, there is great risk  
ahead for those close to Hiei.

A/N: No excuses, just apologies for not updating in a while. We  
return with a long chapter that does a lot of 'work.' Thanks for  
your patience and your reviews, minna-san!

Firebird Sweet C7: The Heartblade Gambit  
by  
Kenshin

Kurama waited until Hiei had closed the door, and the sound of  
receding footsteps told him the fire demon had gone downstairs.  
Then he turned to Shay-san.

"I know we've had our differences in the past."

The girl gazed steadily at him in return, neither confirming nor  
denying.

They stood in Kurama's room, he leaning on the wall near the  
window, she very close to his desk.

All throughout May and June they'd experienced the merry tumult  
of the Crazy Dog Diner, the tango, and Romantic Soldier. He  
noted Shay-san barely appeared to be pregnant, much less carrying  
twins. On this cool afternoon in early July, she wore a scoop-  
neck tank top with a lightweight hooded jacket, both in shades of  
yellow-green. The outfit made quite an impact, contrasted with her fiery hair, but Jaganshi Shayla Kidd had not come to the Minamino residence to give them a fashion show.

Neither Shay-san nor Hiei, given their unusual backgrounds, had  
extensive experience in parenting. Kaasan, on the other hand,  
did.

The pair had come to Kurama's house to learn at Shiori's knee,  
and Hiei had gone first. He would be downstairs now, conversing  
with Shiori, fortified by green tea and toasted rice cakes.

Kurama suspected Hiei might need something stronger.

The frenetic success of Romantic Soldier had been a surprise.  
The extra money enabled Kurama to put some away for the future,  
as well as give Kaasan a few frivolous gifts.

Narrowing his eyes at the architect of the band, Kurama pressed  
on. "Are you afraid of me?"

Shay-san laughed, considerably easing at least one of his  
worries. "Depends who 'me' is. Shuu-ko, absolutely not.  
Kurama, mostly not. Youko, you'd better believe it."

Kurama heaved a long-suffering sigh. "About that---"

"You're an odd one, my friend," she interrupted. "I never really  
know to whom I'm speaking."

"Does that matter?"

"You bet. With the other boys, I have to be on my guard."

That took him by surprise. Why should she be on guard against  
Yuusuke or Kuwabara when it was he, Kurama, who had suspected  
Shay-san of being something other than what she proved to be?  
Kuwabara flat-out adored her; Yuusuke traded genial insults with  
her in his usual carefree manner.

"I have to protect them," she elaborated.

He shot her an unbelieving look. "You? Protect them?"

"Of course. I have to ignore Yuusuke's power and Kuwabara's  
size. Despite that, they're kids. I've been exposed to things  
that can't---or shouldn't---be spoken of in front of them. Not  
you, though. And that's why I don't have to watch my every word  
around you. I can speak freely. Minamino Shuuichi may be a  
schoolboy, but Youko Kurama has seen it all, and then some."

"Don't underestimate Youko. He's protective, too."

"That's what scares me," she said.

He gave a little laugh, then got back to the matter at hand,  
aiming a clinical glance at the girl's pink cheeks and luminous  
eyes. "So far, you're healthy?"

She shrugged. "Sort of past the hurling stage at this point, and  
my gums bleed a little, but otherwise I'm fine."

In human mothers giving birth to human children, Kurama  
explained, morning sickness can appear as early as one month; but  
Shay-san was not carrying human children. No one, not even  
experts, know the gestational period of fire demons; mothers of  
other types of hanyou can give birth in as little as two months,  
or as long as twelve.

"TWELVE MONTHS?" She looked as though she'd stuck her finger in  
an electrical socket; Kurama suppressed another laugh.

"You've been to the obstetrician?"

She nodded, the glaze of shock slowly melting from her eyes.  
"Dr. Gojo didn't say anything about a whole year!"

"I just mentioned that as an outside figure. It won't be a year.  
Not two months, either---more likely between six and eight, with  
fetal development accelerating toward the end."

"Six months?" She glanced down at her flat stomach. "That could  
prove embarrassing for the kids, later on."

"Worry about that when the time comes." Kurama took a deep  
breath, then launched into his difficult speech. "It's my  
feeling at this point that you'll experience an easy birth."

"Well. That's a load off. Twelve months or not."

"However." He cleared his throat. "Afterwards..."

Shay-san lifted a winged eyebrow. "Afterwards?"

"I phoned your uncle, the demonologist."

Crossing her arms, Shay-san angled her head up towards him. "Did  
you now. And what did Uncle Brother Thomas McNeil say?"

"Nothing. He refused to speak to me."

"He did the right thing. My uncle knows we have a friend by the  
name of Minamino Shuuichi who reads his demonologies---after all,  
he signed them for you. But he knows little else about you, and  
certainly not what you sound like."

Friend. Twice now she'd called him friend. "Indeed," he said  
hastily, covering his pleased and startled response. "It could  
have been an enemy seeking information."

"Or a reporter." She cracked a grin.

"Even worse," he chuckled. "However, your uncle did phone Kaasan  
the next day, spoke with her a while, and then with me."

Turning, Kurama felt her gaze bore into his back as he went to  
his closet and extracted a small wooden box. "Your uncle and I  
agree that there's a certain development we'll have to watch  
for." He kept his voice level and soothing; there was no need at  
this early stage to alarm her. "And bear in mind that there's  
nothing in your medical profile that tells me this countermeasure  
will prove necessary. All the same, in case it does ..."

Kurama returned to Shay-san and opened the box.

Inside lay a white leaf, no bigger than his pinky-nail. Flat,  
twin-lobed, the leaf's pointed bottom gave it a heart shape,  
somewhat like an American morning glory leaf.

But it was not a morning glory leaf, American or otherwise.

Its veins, rather than running straight from center to edge, as  
was the case with most leaves, were arrayed in a curlicue  
pattern, a paisley latticework of intricate design and power.

Just about a week ago, when Kurama first suspected Shay-san might  
have need of this device, he'd managed to drag a busy, grumbling  
Hiei to his room.

"Pick one, Hiei," Kurama said, opening a flat box with six such  
leaves in array.

"Why?" Hiei knifed a suspicious glance at him.

"Just do it."

"Fine." Hovering impatiently over the leaves, Hiei pressed his  
right index finger onto the third leaf from the left. When he  
lifted his hand, the leaf adhered to it. "Do I get a prize?"  
His flat-out-irritated stare failed to jar Kurama.

"Maybe." Opening another, smaller box, Kurama held it beneath  
Hiei's hand. "In here, please."

Without Hiei performing any action to cause it, the leaf dropped  
obediently into the box. "I hate it when you're being  
mysterious," Hiei muttered.

Closing the box, Kurama placed it on a shelf in his closet. "How  
about if I buy you a coffee at the Silver Moon?"

Hiei brightened visibly. "Throw in a piece of cake and it's a  
deal." And he had said nothing more of the mystery leaf.

Now, with Shay-san rather than Hiei before him, Kurama gazed down  
at the chosen leaf. "This," he said, placing the box in Shay-  
san's palm, "is your Heartblade."

And he sat her down at his desk to explain.

Human-demon halfbreeds are not uncommon. Smith-sensei himself  
was a hanyou, although even Kurama wasn't certain what the  
doctor's powers might be.

It was Smith's father who had been the demon. Smith's human  
mother had died three days after giving him life.

In times past, human mothers often died of what was known as  
childbed fever. This dangerous, septic condition results from an  
infection that creeps in from the tiny wound created when the  
placenta tears itself away from the mother's body. In developed  
countries, with antibiotics and modern medical facilities,  
childbed fever has been all but stamped out.

But in human-demon crosses, this condition is made worse by the  
introduction of demonic aura. Hanyou childbed fever is nearly  
untreatable and quite unpreventable.

This is where the Heartblade comes in.

The Heartblade comes from a rare Makai plant known as the Vortex  
Tree. It carries tremendous, though risky, powers of  
purification and healing, acting in much the same way as  
inoculations in the human world of medicine. Inoculations can  
backfire, causing a wide array of reactions, to mild irritation  
at the site of the injection, to allergic shock and death.

Sometimes, the ultimate use of the Heartblade has no side  
effects. But other times, it can suck every last scrap of ki  
from the wielder---who in this case, is the reckless fire demon  
Hiei---and, while saving the life of the mother, kill the father.

It is a last-ditch measure.

Inserted under the mother's skin, the Heartblade feeds on her ki.  
Though normally not the case, sometimes reiki and youki can be  
interchangeable, depending on wavelength. Since most people  
seemed to think that Shay-san and Hiei were far too alike for  
their own good, this, at least, could work in their favor.

When the blade grows too large, it is surgically removed, the  
usual carrying time being two days.

Outside the mother, it continues to grow, strengthening not only  
on its own arcane powers, but also the echoes of both parent's  
spirit energy. Eventually, the leaf pulp is absorbed so only the  
intricate lace of its skeleton remains, hard as bone, sharp as a  
sword, different for each one who bears it.

And the father, should need arise, must plunge the Blade directly  
into the mother's heart.

Shay-san took it well, considering. She did not turn color to  
match her green outfit, nor faint, but only replied, "Pardon me  
if I consult my uncle first."

"By all means. And your obstetrician." Kurama had, with Smith-  
sensei's help, located a physician who knew of the existence of  
demons. Dr. Gojo may have lacked Smith's high-octane, caustic  
personality, but he could handle the care and feeding of half-  
breeds.

Shay-san squinted down at the tiny leaf. "How much does it hurt  
to put in?"

"You'll barely feel it," he assured her, knowing she was  
squeamish. "Hiei can hold your hand."

"No." She bit her lip. "I don't want him knowing."

"But Hiei will have to know in order to---"

"Will it harm me?"

"Of course not. The leaf isn't toxic to the mother in any way.  
In fact, you may experience a burst of energy."

"Is that a fact." Her lucid gray eyes took on the gold wash  
Kurama had come to recognize as a reflection of some inner fire.

"It is."

"Burst of energy. Doesn't seem possible, considering how I felt  
when Frosty the Serpent got hold of me. Like someone sucking out  
my life through a straw."

"This plant doesn't siphon spirit energy in the same way," Kurama  
explained. "It feeds on what you might call 'background hum.'  
It also operates on an energy-return system."

"And my babies?"

"Absolutely no harm can come to them from the Heartblade."

"I see. And to which of you three am I speaking now?"

Kurama stifled a laugh. "It doesn't quite work like that. As  
I've said before, the being you know as Kurama constitutes a  
fusion, not a possession."

She slanted a long, gold-glimmered look his way. "Minamino  
Shuuichi, also known as Kurama."

His throat felt dry. He tried to swallow. "Yes?"

"Do it," she said. "Now."

"Now? Impossible. I have to prepare you first---"

"Better hurry, then." She unzipped her chartreuse jacket and  
shook it off, standing before him in her tank top.

The amount of flesh she bared was far less than would be visible  
in a swimsuit, less even than in one of her ballroom gowns, yet  
Kurama felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"Do it," she repeated, the tiniest edge of a whiplash in her  
voice. "Now."

His hands sprang into motion with a life of their own. Kurama  
found himself applying numbing gel to the skin covering her  
sternum, then adding a dab of an alkaloid compound to minimize  
bleeding. He removed a leafblade from his hair, slit the top  
layer of skin open and inserted the powerful agent so it would  
lie flat against flesh and bone.

She held her breath, then let out in a little hiss.

Wordlessly, Kurama pressed a patch of antiseptic-saturated gauze  
to the spot, then taped it securely.

It had taken less than a minute. The girl was already gingerly  
shouldering back into her jacket.

Kurama admonished her to come see him in a couple of days, no  
longer, for the blade's removal.

And while she fussed in the mirror hanging over his dresser,  
Kurama watched her, and thought, hard.

He had not been willing to install the Blade at that moment. Had  
planned on doing it when Kaasan was not home, once Shay-san had  
consulted with both her uncle and her obstetrician.

Quite vivid in his memory was the oni's reaction to Shay-san's  
"Command Voice," back at the Crazy Dog Diner. They had obeyed  
her, when probably the last thing on their minds was turning  
themselves in to the authorities.

Perhaps that one had used Voice on him just now, though his ears  
had been unable to detect anything out of the ordinary.

"Shay-san."

"Mmm?" Eyes on her reflection, she was fluffing her hair.

"Just now, did you---"

She spun. "Hiei," she whispered, a look of alarm flashing across  
her features. "He's coming. Don't tell him."

Frowning, Kurama said, "How do you know he's---"

She put an urgent finger to her lips. "Shhh!"

And only then did Kurama sense Hiei's aura. The door creaked  
open. Hiei stood in the threshold, looking noticeably pale. He  
made his shaky way to Shay-san's side, then crashed into the  
chair. "K-kaasan says it's your turn."

Shay-san gulped audibly. "Okay." Relinquishing her spot to  
Hiei, she edged out the door.

Hiei was going from pale to greenish, and it wasn't his Jinn form  
either. "That bad?" Kurama inquired.

Hiei nodded, his irises the size of birdshot.

Kurama made a little clucking noise of sympathy. "So my mother  
gave you the lowdown on what happens when babies arrive."

"And then some."

"How much is two times two?"

"A hundred."

"Put your head between your knees," Kurama advised.

"I'll be fine," Hiei mumbled, from that position. "She's the one  
who has to push them out. As long as she's healthy, everything  
will be all right."

Kurama's only reply was a pasted-on smile.

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss was guzzling sake again. This was not a good sign.

Despite its outward appearance, Warehouse Number Four was not  
merely one huge, cavernous space inside. Like many of the other  
warehouses in that particular row, it had a bathroom (for which  
Carlos was grateful) and another little room that could serve as  
an office. Smaller than eight by eight feet, the office  
contained an old steel desk and locker, a phone, a rickety chair  
on wheels, and numerous packing crates.

And on this cool afternoon in early July, it also contained one  
muttering, drunken Boss demon.

Carlos stood in the doorway of the office, eyeing the Boss. An  
orange oni came from behind to stand at his shoulder. It was the  
smallest of the redshirts in their employ, a mere head taller  
than Carlos, and apparently knew the signs, judging by the way it  
groaned when it caught sight of the Boss: "Ahh, not this again."

The black-eyed demon, muttering in a raspy Makai dialect Carlos  
did not recognize, clutched in both clawed hands a stone jug of  
sake---one of many in the room. He halted his ravings to sling  
the stone jug over one meaty forearm and lift its mouth to his  
own in a desperate kiss, throat working to gulp swallow after  
swallow. Carlos felt his own chest ache, as though he was  
holding his breath along with the Boss.

Finally, the Boss let the jug fall away, a trail of sake  
dribbling from his mouth. The claustrophobic space filled with a  
raw alcohol stench. He took no notice of his onlookers.

The orange oni caught Carlos' eye. With a jerk of his head,  
Carlos sent it away from the office. He heard its footsteps echo  
softly down into the hollow warehouse.

Even the cries of the gulls seemed muffled today.

There was little Carlos could do with the Boss out of commission,  
except make sure the jaki continued spying.

Although it was a strong temptation to do away with their target  
now and get it over with, two things stopped him: One, their  
target had already proven his toughness. Two, the Boss would fly  
into a murderous rage if he woke to find out he had missed all  
the fun.

Carlos shut the door on the Boss and made his own way back into  
the warehouse.

He passed the agitated water sprites, who bounced around beneath  
the catwalks, chittering in their reedy little voices. Carlos  
silenced them with a glare.

Past the Shifter, sitting by himself on a packing crate, a blank  
look on his grayish face, speaking to no one. Past the other oni  
gathered in knots, murmuring about the circumstances.

Well. Someone had to mind the store.

Carlos settled near the rack of surveillance equipment on the far  
wall. On the biggest monitor---the one on which the Boss liked  
to watch his Greatest Hits---was nothing but static. But there  
were three smaller monitors in action.

One monitor displayed a front view of the Kuwabara house, from a  
rooftop across the street. No activity there.

The second monitor captured an impossibly high angle on the  
third-floor Lermontov studios. Probably from another, much  
taller building across the street, thought Carlos, shaking his  
head. They really had to raise the game of their jaki operatives  
if they expected any useful surveillance footage.

The third monitor hit pay dirt.

It revealed a small grassy clearing, sunlight dappling the ground  
and illuminating the stone bench that seated two young people:  
one male, one female.

The boy was tall and powerfully built, with modern dress  
consisting of jeans and a loose overshirt. He had an improbable  
orange pompadour and slanting dark eyes in a rough-hewn face.  
The girl was petite in traditional garb, with ice-colored hair  
and kimono. But the crimson eyes in her lovely face were the  
same color as the eyes of the Boss' target.

She was the target's sibling, the Boss had said.

A few feet away from the monitors was a card table with four  
metal folding chairs. Carlos dragged a chair over to the  
monitor, straddled it, and settled in to watch.

The angle of the scene was high, but not too high for viewing;  
the jaki wielding the camera may have been concealed in a tall  
bush, or a lower branch of a tree, some thirty feet from the  
subjects. Still, from such a distance, there was no sound, only  
visuals.

This meeting between boy and girl was---according to the  
information written on the video log---taking place on the  
grounds of Genkai's temple.

The girl's lips curved in a radiant smile. This boy (Carlos,  
having tracked him before, was familiar with his habits) had  
abandoned his normal, boisterous manner to sit in silence, his  
eyes drinking in the sight of the girl. They looked young,  
carefree, happy.

Marked for death, the both of them.

Resting his chin on his folded arms, Carlos let out a long,  
melancholy sigh.

"Hey, Chief." The orange oni had practically materialized next  
to his chair, flicking a curious glance at Carlos. "Somethin'  
buggin' you?"

Carlos exploded from the chair, slamming it back against the card  
table, almost knocking it over. The oni flinched. "Go listen at  
the Boss' door," he growled.

As the oni scuttled away, Carlos called after it: "And let me  
know if he starts setting the place on fire."

0-0-0-0-0

The Immaculate Heart church serves a small parish in the Shibuya  
sector of Tokyo, near the famed Youyougi Kouen. A surprising  
number of English-speakers attend---it is one of the few churches  
in Japan to celebrate Mass in English---and the aging Father  
Tenryou, with his tendency to fall asleep during long services,  
will one day be replaced as head pastor by the younger, more  
vigorous Father Brian McCormick, who is even now petitioning to  
wrangle a third priest.

In addition to the church itself, there are a number of  
outbuildings on the grounds, including the Rectory, where the  
staff eats, and what they refer to as the Convent, though at this  
time it contains no nuns. The Convent these days serves as  
meeting hall, classroom, dorm, and gymnasium.

All this Father Brian, dressed in tattered gray sweats with an  
ancient pair of boxing gloves slung over one broad shoulder,  
explained to Hiei as he led the way to the Convent.

Hiei snorted as they approached the long, two-storied brick  
building. "Did you call me here to teach me a history of this  
parish, or to recruit me for the priesthood?"

"Neither, you arrogant little pissant." The dangerous black eyes  
raked Hiei up and down. "I called you here to hold the heavy  
bag."

"Stupid me. I wondered where the backward collar went."

Father Brian answered with a snort of his own, opening the  
Convent door. Inside, he preceded Hiei down a green hallway.  
Under their feet the dark brown linoleum was old but polished.

In the week after Hiei's meeting with Shiori, he and Shay-san had  
rehearsed and shot a television ad for a popular brand of  
refrigerator. What dancing a tango demonstrated about the  
efficacy of a refrigeration unit was beyond Hiei, but he was in  
no mood to argue with the amount of the paycheck.

During that week, Hiei's nightmares burgeoned.

He wanted to ask someone what these dreams of falling and  
disaster meant. Yuusuke would laugh them off; Kuwabara would  
scratch his head, Kurama would overanalyze, and, sympathetic  
though she might be, Hiei refused to trouble Shiori.

Which left the pit bull---Father Brian.

At the end of the hall, they descended the stairway. The first  
door on the right opened onto a small gymnasium smelling of stale  
air, with an Olympic weight set in one corner and a heavy  
punching bag in the other. Pointing dramatically to the bag,  
Father Brian tugged on his training gloves and said, "Try to keep  
that from smashing through the wall, kiddo." Then he launched  
into a series of warm-up exercises.

Grumbling, Hiei wedged himself into the corner behind the bag.  
Father Brian went to work, throwing lefts and rights, mostly  
leading with his left. He was, Hiei recalled, a southpaw, and it  
needed a genuine effort to hold the bag steady. Hiei realized in  
short order that this one packed quite a punch. In his Golden  
Gloves days, Father Brian must have been a tough competitor.

Hiei said as much.

"Thanks. Got me some EMT training, too, back in the day,"  
grunted the priest, between blows. "Goes hand-in-hand."

"Break someone's nose in a fight, then set it afterward?"

"That's the general idea."

"I get it. A two-for-one deal."

"Kind of like your twins, kiddo."

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of light gloves  
smacking heavy leather, and the priest's labored breathing.  
Sweat beaded on Father Brian's brow and soaked through his  
clothes. "An' did you get your Dragon back online yet?" Father  
Brian punched out the words between hits on the bag.

Hiei scowled. "Can't just press the Resest button."

"Ever try talkin' to it, kiddo?"

It was no use trying to explain to this outsider, this non-demon,  
that the Dragon was a creature of darkness and flame and could  
not be 'talked to.'

When the priest stopped pounding the bag at last, Hiei let go.  
Father Brian propped his hands on his knees, sucking oxygen in  
great, heaving gasps. "Look, kid," he wheezed, still recovering.  
"Take me. Happy as a pig in shit back in Boston, tending me own  
small flock. Ahh, the bars." Father Brian straightened, his  
eyes misting over with fond remembrance. "And they all served up  
a decent plate of corned beef an' cabbage, let me tell you. But  
next thing I know, they send me to this forsaken place where I  
can't even read the chicken-scratch writing and the names are  
backward and they eat raw fish an' seaweed." He shot Hiei a look  
of exasperation, as though Hiei himself were to blame for his  
relocation. "And then what?"

Hiei folded his arms. "I stand in suspense."

"I meet you, y'little pissant. You keep me awake nights."

"Try Sominex."

The priest had the temerity to wink at him. "Everything happens  
for a reason, kiddo. Me bein' here, you bein' here, and your  
Dragon takin' off for parts unknown."

"And what about my Dragon?"

Father Brian plucked a towel from his gym bag, then mopped his  
dripping face. "Gotta fight smarter, not harder."

"Riight. So basically, the opposite of Kuwabara."

You could take a lesson from me," admonished the priest. "The way  
I switched hands for a match back in the day. You know, when I  
hurt me left and learned to throw rights."

Baka. What with Father Brian yammering about corned beef and  
cabbage and boxing, there was no way to broach the subject. Hiei  
trudged to the door, leaving the priest to towel off.

But at the door he stopped. He was more than a bag man. And  
priests were supposed to offer council to their 'flock.'

Ask him now, Hiei told himself. If everything has its reason,  
then why the nightmares? "Father."

"Son?"

One hand on the door frame, Hiei spoke without turning. "I've  
been having dreams."

The details of the dream varied. Sometimes, it was a replay of  
that first dream: Hiei, in the frozen realm of the Kourime,  
facing the stranger, then falling.

In others, Hiei was surrounded by mist; all he could see were the  
stranger's aquamarine eyes and billowing raven hair.

But always it ended with his firebird, broken and bleeding on the  
pavement.

Hiei would not speak of that, nor of the black-haired stranger.  
He spoke only of falling.

Father Brian was so quiet that Hiei was forced to face him.

The priest stood near the heavy bag, towel around his neck, the  
pit-bull features softening with a sympathy that was more painful  
for Hiei to bear than swords.

"Ah, poor kid." Father Brian shook his head. "Reliving that  
terrible moment with the Kourime."

"It's not that---"

"But you're not alone any more. You've got your little colleen,  
and the twins to come. You've got me, and your swaggering band  
of hooligan friends."

Perhaps, Hiei thought. But he had been alone for so long,  
relying on his own strength, he did not know how to respond.

"Poor kid," repeated the priest.

"Father," Hiei began, taking a step toward the priest.

He froze. The revelation was as shocking as it was inevitable.  
Hiei felt as though someone had just landed a hard left to his  
own gut, and he reeled back toward the door.

Father. That was it. The word, the concept. Father.

The dreams were of Hiei's father. Of course. A powerful  
explosion had blown a hole in the barrier between worlds. Maybe  
an older fire demon---they were rare---had that level of power.  
His own father was trying to find him.

Hiei's father. Who might have the answers. Why the cold-hearted  
Kourime had cast him away. Why they refused him when he was of  
their blood. Answers to ease the anguish.

"My dreams! They're---" Hiei broke off, whipped his head around  
to face in the direction of the Minamino residence.

No sooner had he assimilated one shock than another hit him, even  
harder. Something was happening where Kurama lived. His every  
nerve sang a siren of warning.

Alarm etched itself onto the priest's face. "What is it, kiddo?  
What's to do, son?"

Focusing, Hiei knew in a flash. His firebird. In pain!

He flicked out the door before Father Brian could so much as lift  
a hand.

0-0-0-0-0

"Ow!" Shay-san rubbed the inside of her arm, where Kurama had  
just removed a blood pressure cuff.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I did pinch you there a bit."

"Just get on with it," grumbled Shay-san, giving as good an  
imitation of Hiei as Kurama had ever seen; and then she quite  
spoiled the effect by quavering, "Please?"

Once more they met in Kurama's room as they had a week earlier.  
Her stride, when she had first entered the house, spoke of a  
bursting energy and health. Now---

Kurama was relieved that Kaasan wasn't home. He wouldn't want  
his mother subjected to what he was about to do, and what should  
have been done a full five days before.

The weather had turned hot, more suitable for July, but inside,  
it was cool enough for Shay-san to clutch her jacket like a  
shield, a scared-looking girl who kept darting glances at the  
tubes of medicinal herbs laid out on his desk. Kurama put the  
blood pressure cuff away.

"You haven't been returning my calls," Kurama admonished. "Why?"

"Busy." She twirled in his chair as a child might.

"With what?"

Rehearsal." She slanted an oblique look at him. "Shooting the  
fridge commercial. You were there a couple times, remember?"

"I remember. I just don't see why you would do such a fool thing  
as delaying removal."

"Nothing stopped you from whipping out that leafblade in the  
dressing room and prying it out of me."

"Only Hiei, who would gut me. That's two prevarications, if not  
outright falsehoods. Care to try for three?"

She sighed, hands twisting together in her lap, and said in a  
small voice, "I thought if I could keep it in a bit longer it  
would work better."

"I can actually see its outline under your skin. It must have  
become enormously uncomfortable."

"Right now I'm more concerned with the taking-it-out part. How  
much will it hurt?"

"You should have come to me sooner," Kurama repeated.

"Can't we just do this?" Her voice was high and wobbly, not a  
shred of Command in it, merely the voice of a girl who got queasy  
at the sight of blood.

There were days when Kurama felt like bashing his head into a  
sturdy brick wall, and this was one of them. "I'll need to act  
quickly," he informed her, applying a dab of numbing gel to her  
skin, then summoning a leafblade from his hair.

She sucked in a breath. "Do I have to watch?"

"No." Now was the time when Kurama needed to bring his full  
concentration to bear. The lavish growth of the Heartblade meant  
its extraction would prove difficult; that much was clear. What  
other effects it might have remained to be seen.

Kurama had the other medications ready: the antiseptic and the  
sterile gauze pad, and the open box where the Heartblade would  
rest and continue growing against the sorrowful day when they  
might need it.

He laid the leafblade against the girl's skin, where the curve of  
the Heartblade could be clearly seen. The leafblade pressed in,  
drawing a bead of blood.

She gave a tiny whimper.

The window slammed open. Kurama jerked back and spun, ready to  
protect Shay-san from the intruder.

Hiei exploded into the room, snarling. His eyes were pinpoints  
of fire and his teeth white knives as he grated out, "Get away  
from her or die!"

"Stand down, Dragon Boy," Shay-san said tiredly. "You don't want  
Kurama's hands shaking just at the moment."

"Are you both crazy?" Hiei lunged forward. "He's slitting you  
open and you're just going to let him?"

Kurama raised the leafblade again. "The anesthetic I  
administered is powerful, but short-acting. How much do you want  
this to hurt her?"

Hiei turned his furious glare onto Kurama. "And how much do you  
want me to hurt you?"

Still, thought Kurama, he hasn't drawn his sword. I don't  
believe he would actually attack me, but---

"Please. Let him do his job," interjected Shay-san. She sighed  
at Kurama. "See, this is why I didn't like Hiei knowing. You  
can't help either of us if you're lying in pieces."

"Feel free to discuss me like I wasn't here." Without seeming  
to move, Hiei put himself squarely between Kurama and the girl,  
glaring up at the taller boy, unintimidated by the difference in  
height. "Fool of a woman." He jerked a glance her way. "You  
don't get it, do you? He wanted those babies dead!"

"Oh, of course he doesn't," Shay-san assured him.

"Hiei," Kurama began.

"Get away from her," Hiei warned.

All right, Kurama thought. Time to throw all the cards on the  
table. He addressed Shay-san. "Hiei's right," he admitted,  
"although I'm not proud of it. I did speak of terminating them."

She winged a questioning eyebrow at him. "When?"

"The week before your wedding," Kurama replied.

She reproved him in the mildest of tones. "You ought to know  
better than to suggest such a thing to a Catholic."

"But Hiei wasn't, not yet. And I was badly mistaken as to your  
character." Kurama would not even mention the jaki who had,  
acting as an agent of White Sands Serpent, deliberately misled  
him; such a facile shifting of the blame was beneath him.  
Besides, he told himself, it was you and you alone who listened  
to the lies of that foul little creature. Shrugging, Kurama  
plunged ahead. "Sorry, but there it is: I did think you were  
manipulating Hiei."

"Manipulating Hiei?" She gave a credible snort. "I can't even  
get him to close the lid on the toilet."

"But you are a Spellcaster," Kurama reminded her.

"Which she didn't even know until Genkai told her!" Hiei slashed  
the air with an impatient hand.

Kurama sighed, once more addressing Shay-san. "And as long as  
I'm in the confessional---I suspected also that you had, er,  
misinformed Hiei about the nature of your, ah, condition."

"I was the one who 'informed' her about the nature of her  
condition, fox-boy," spat Hiei.

"Whatever happened, it's in the past," Shay-san interrupted.  
"And God knows I played my part. So let's just leave it there."

"I," said Kurama, "am more than willing. Hiei?"

Hiei's only answer was a grunt.

"Well. And now that we've established we're all on the same  
team," said Kurama, "Shall we proceed?"

"I spoke to my uncle," Shay-san added. "The Heartblade is  
legitimate."

"Heartblade?" Hiei blinked, glancing at each of them.

As quickly as possible, before the anesthetic wore off, Kurama  
explained, emphasizing that the thing would continue to grow,  
making it hazardous to remove. He brandished his leafblade  
again. "It's time to act, Hiei."

"I don't care. You get that knife away from her!"

"Technically speaking," said Kurama, aiming for a light,  
bantering tone, "it's not a knife. It's a leafblade."

Looking at the floor, Hiei muttered, "Maybe Smith should do this  
instead."

Kurama let out a long breath. "And waste a perfectly good dose  
of anesthetic?"

"Instead of fighting with Kurama," said the girl, "you could try  
distracting me."

Hiei locked gazes with Kurama. His crimson eyes blazed; the  
powerful, compact frame hummed readiness. Yet he did not attack.

Clearly, Hiei was battling his instincts to fight, balancing them  
against his desire to do what was best for the girl.

As he studied Hiei, the answer came in a rush, leaving him  
startled:

Hiei is changing.

Like a person on a swing, suspended in the middle of the arc  
between one high point and the next. He's not quite his old  
kill-first-talk-later self, but not yet able to respond  
differently because he is still in the process of metamorphosis.  
I once told the others that we'd lost him because he'd met the  
girl. How much worse for Hiei to lose himself.

And something's happened to him just now--but what? Come on, my  
friend---can't you tell me what's bothering you?

No. I don't suppose you can.

Time was racing them. Goading appeals to Hiei's pride in his  
fighting strength would not work; those took too long to set in.  
If he could just get Hiei to understand now, this minute! But  
he's still so young, Kurama thought, regarding his friend  
steadily. Practically a child, not even twenty years of age.

Kurama made no move with the leafblade, but did not put it aside  
either. Emerald eyes locked onto ruby.

And it was Hiei who looked away. "Annoying bastard," he  
muttered. But Kurama saw him slip his hand into Shay-san's.

"Then it's settled?" Kurama inquired.

Hiei said nothing. Shay-san flicked a pleading glance at Kurama.  
"Can't we get on with it?"

He beamed her a smile. "Certainly. Now then!" he said to her.  
"Turn your head and cough."

And while she was still laughing, Kurama opened her up and pried  
out the oversized, bloodied Heartblade.

0-0-0-0-0

That night, Hiei had the dream again.

The roar of the chopper, the blossom of flame, the dark-haired  
stranger smiling, reaching down to Hiei as he fell.

"Father!" Hiei snarled. "You did it! It was you!"

He could smell the metallic, oily helicopter, feel its blades  
thop-thop as an unpleasant drumbeat in his ears.

He woke, sweat pouring off him. It was quite some time before he  
could bring himself to glance at his firebird.

She was, of course, sleeping peacefully, the Hello Kitty toy  
clutched in her arms. The removal of the Heartblade had not  
harmed her after all.

He looked at the beautiful curve of her mouth. Woman. Wife.  
Mother.

If anything happens to her----

No. Nothing would happen to her. He would not permit it.

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss was climbing back on the wagon again.

This was not necessarily a good thing.

His bellows shook the warehouse, driving its occupants to huddle  
near the rack of surveillance equipment, farthest away from his  
post-bender wrath.

Luckily enough, thought Carlos, the Boss hadn't yet emerged. All  
week, his 'court' had battled fear and restlessness.

The oni were crowded around a card table pretending not to care;  
the gray-skinned Shifter, always apart from the others, leaned  
back behind a large packing crate; the numerous jaki were either  
out with cameras or hiding up on the catwalks. The tiny mizu no  
odoriko chittered in fright beneath the largest video monitor,  
covering their pointed ears.

"How long will this go on?" Carlos asked no one in particular.

The oni exchanged uneasy looks. At last the small orange one put  
down his cards and approached. "He's having bad dreams," it  
whispered. "Most likely."

Thanks for the psychoanalysis, thought Carlos. "But how long  
before he comes out of it?" he repeated, patiently enough.

The orange one sighed. "Longest was three weeks."

Two more weeks, thought Carlos. A long time for a crew like this  
to be hanging around doing nothing but listen to drunken ravings.  
"What happens when he comes around?"

The orange oni flinched. "You don't wanna know, Chief."

"Yeah, I do. That's why I asked."

Flicking a glance at the office door, the orange oni pursed its  
lips. "It can get bad," it whispered. "Real bad."

Why do I get the impression I'm talking to a brick wall? wondered  
Carlos. He gritted his teeth. "Describe how bad. And don't  
spare the horses."

"Huh?" The oni gave him a puzzled glance. "What do horses have  
to do with---"

And that was when its jaws clicked shut in mid-sentence.  
Stiffening, it took on a peculiar blank stare, as if someone had  
drawn a filmy curtain over its eyes. For several moments it  
remained in that frozen state.

What the hell is going on? Carlos himself felt the horrible urge  
to run to the office, but it passed. "Hey," he began, snapping  
his fingers at the oni. "Earth to oni. Answer me!"

"He can't," said another of the oni, its voice shaking.

The orange oni jerked around in a half-circle, then wove down the  
center of the warehouse as though it was a marionette.

Carlos had never seen the like. What the hell's making it move  
that way? Something else was different too, he realized. The  
insane bellowing had stopped.

"Ah, crap," muttered another oni, a hulking green one with a long  
black mane.

The orange oni was halfway to the open office door. "Help," it  
managed, in a hoarse, pained growl.

Carlos started out after it. The green oni put a hand on his  
shoulder, stopping him.

"Ain't nothin' you can do," said the green oni, jerking its head  
at the office door. "Once the Boss fires up that third eye, he's  
got control. No one can interfere."

Carlos shook off the hand, rounding on the green oni. "And what  
else can that eye do?"

"All kinds of things. Summon flames, control people. The  
target's got one, too, but nowhere near's powerful."

"I'm surprised he could still call for help," added a purple oni.  
"Usually they don't even know what's happenin'."

Carlos shivered. That third eye had come awfully close to  
claiming him, too. Turning, he watched the orange oni with a  
growing sense of frustration. The Boss' oldest employee, the one  
who knew him best, staggered toward the ominously silent office  
door. "Help," it croaked again.

"Dammit!" Carlos surged forward, but the other oni held him  
back, even as the orange one broke into an ungainly run, reached  
the office, jerked open the door, and disappeared inside.

Silence. His throat dry, Carlos ticked off the seconds. He only  
made it to three.

A billowing ribbon of flame shot from the office. The orange  
oni's scream was cut off by a second blast of fire.

The stench of roasting flesh gagged Carlos. But its duration was  
mercifully brief, and soon drowned out by the acrid smell of  
thick black smoke.

Poor oni, thought Carlos. Never even knew his name.

As they watched the smoke thin out, something stirred at the open  
office door.

Gradually, the barrel-chested figure of the Boss emerged. He  
paused on wide-set, wobbly legs, then lurched toward them,  
reeking of sake and sweat, looking very much the worse for wear.

Even his third eye---a black, vertical slit on his broad  
forehead---appeared bleary.

A stunned silence greeted him.

Stretching, the self-styled king who paid their salary bared his  
fangs in a leering grin. "I ain't felt such a good rest in years.  
Like someone recharged my battery."

The oni backed away, leaving Carlos to face him alone.

With a contemptuous glance at his cowering redshirts, the Boss  
addressed Carlos. "I seen some things through this eye." The eye  
in question gave a disconcerting blink. "An' I got a real good  
plan for doin' in that mamma-to-be. A plan that'll move niiice  
'n' slow, so's it hurts the target all the more."

Carlos gave a stiff, silent nod.

"Time t' get busy," growled the Boss.

-30-

(To be continued: Will Hiei's Dragon resurface in time?)


	9. FS C8: Take Me Up!

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C8: "Take Me Up!" (Hiei Meets The Nicholas Brothers)  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Summary: While Hiei embarks on an unusual venture, someone  
unknown to him plots and schemes.

A/N: If you haven't heard of the Nicholas Brothers, look into  
them; they're astounding. Info--even clips--can be easily found  
online. And again, thanks to you who are reading and reviewing! This is a long work---sequel to Idiot Beloved, plot and adventure-driven. If you like this kind of story, please give it a try.

Who are these men and why is Hiei fascinated with them?

Firebird Sweet C8: "Take Me Up!" (Hiei Meets the Nicholas  
Brothers)  
by  
Kenshin

The Nicholas Brothers, Harold and Fayard, had played a big part  
in the life of Shayla Kidd, though she had never met them, and  
they didn't know she existed.

Nimble enough to perform at speeds almost matching Hiei's,  
flexible enough to do full splits (again, much like Hiei), the  
famed dance team's artistry is unrivaled. Since the 1930s,  
Harold and Fayard lit up the American stage and screen with  
blazing tap numbers in such film classics as Stormy Weather, Sun  
Valley Serenade, and, in the case of today's gambit, Orchestra  
Wives.

The Kuwabara house in early afternoon, one day following the  
removal of the Heartblade, Shayla Kidd and Hiei having the place  
to themselves for once. And Shayla was feeling great.

Stupendous, in fact. Just as she'd gambled on.

The Heartblade, surprisingly, hadn't hurt going in, and

barely hurt coming out. Now she was left with a burst of energy,  
for which she had Kurama to thank. I'll need it, she told  
herself, emerging from the kitchen into the living room, a tray  
groaning with food and drink balanced in both hands.

Hiei spotted her. Muttering, he darted to her side, relieved her  
of the tray, and set it on the coffee table.

"Thanks." She was eating like a pig these days, blissfully  
nausea-free. Settling next to Hiei, she sighed, "Alone at last."

Lidding his eyes, Hiei reached for her. Evading him neatly,  
Shayla strolled to the TV, and popped in a particular video.

She could feel Hiei's frustration, striking her back like a heat  
wave. Indeed, she had frustrations of her own.

Hiei's presence still had a devastating effect on her, and she  
was not yet too big to be a true mate to him. But there was  
seldom enough privacy, and the Heartblade gave her an opportunity  
she couldn't waste. Be strong, she thought. Long-range plans.  
If this gambit hits, we might be able to afford our own place.

Returning to the couch, she picked up the remote, pressed 'play.'  
Over Hiei's little grunt of annoyance, the film began.

Orchestra Wives is an innocuous tale of romance, containing some  
decent one-liners and good music. Ostensibly starring Ann  
Rutherford and George Montgomery, the 1942 production also  
features a Hollywood who's-who of Jackie Gleason, Glenn Miller,  
Cesar Romero and Harry Morgan, later famed as Dragnet's second  
banana and MASH's Colonel Potter.

But to Shayla Kidd, all that mattered was the Nicholas Brothers.

"You're wasting this opportunity on an old movie?" Hiei demanded.  
The dangerous purr of his voice weakened her resolve.

"Not wasting," she replied, sliding a pair of chopsticks from  
their paper wrapper. "This is something you need to see."

Taking the chopsticks, Hiei broke them apart for her before  
breaking a pair for himself. "Why?"

She indicated the screen. "Just watch." And Hiei did, as Girl  
Meets Trumpet Player, and Within Five Seconds, Girl Snogs Trumpet  
Player. "Ch." Hiei rolled his eyes. "Even I knew you for a few  
hours before I kissed you."

She dipped tuna roll into wasabi-soaked soy sauce and ate,  
leaving a pleasant tingle on her lips. "That trumpet player  
works even faster than you. Didn't think it was possible."

Hiei snorted, stabbing a piece of tuna roll and flipping it into  
his mouth.

Scarcely fifteen minutes into Girl-and-Trumpet Player's  
acquaintance, they get married.

Judging by the way he rolled his eyes, Hiei's credibility was  
strained. "They've spoken, what, two sentences to each other and  
they're getting married!" He pointed his chopsticks at the  
screen. "We exchanged at least three or four before---"

"Five. I counted." Her wasabi-seared lips quivered in  
amusement. In spite of himself, Hiei was becoming interested in  
the film, enough to fire off a running commentary.

There are some performers whose virtuosity earns them near-  
immortal status. The Nicholas Brothers are two such men. Their  
electrifying dance moves and radiant personalities, all wrapped  
in black tie and tails, elevate even a pedestrian film to the  
status of a classic. All throughout her years at the convent  
school, Shayla Kidd had consumed their movies like water in a  
desert, and dreamed of someday emulating them.

She plowed silently through tuna rolls and raw vegetables,  
punctuated by sips of iced coffee, and Hiei's excoriating  
comments on the film.

Harold and Fayard's featured dance number, "I Got A Gal In  
Kalamazoo," is set in a swank night club with tables flanking the  
multi-leveled dance floor.

There was a lot more melodrama to wade through before the  
Nicholas Brothers appeared, but halfway through the food, the  
first uplifting chords struck, and Harold and Fayard took the  
stage like Grant took Richmond.

Hiei turned to her, his gaze a drawn sword. "Who are these two?"  
he demanded.

She told him. Hiei narrowed his garnet eyes. "Firebird Lament,  
right?"

She caught her breath. Firebird Lament, her first vocal with  
Romantic Soldier, was in fact a tribute to Glenn Miller. She had  
written it and recorded it on the cheap as soon as the band hit  
it semi-big. Fiercely up-tempo, its melodic line was juxtaposed  
against lyrics that spoke of love's tragic nature.

Hiei returned his attention to the screen.

The brothers pounce like wildcats, dart like rockets, tapping  
with machine-gun precision and otherworldly, compact grace. At  
one point, Fayard runs up a wall and tosses out a backflip into a  
full split, as casually as ordinary people rise from a couch.

Shayla Kidd never saw herself as a great talent, but she knew she  
was a good mimic with a quick ear. Firebird Lament had been  
penned with this in mind. And, she now realized, perhaps her  
near-terror when she first watched Hiei dance could be explained  
by the fact that his untrained moves reminded her of Harold and  
Fayard, of whom Hiei had most certainly never heard, much less  
seen.

Not taking his eyes from the screen, Hiei said, "You want to  
choreograph your number like this one."

"You got it." While the sunny, beaming persona of the Nicholas  
Brothers was perhaps Hiei's polar opposite, Shayla knew the  
physical aspects of their performance would intrigue him.

"Making videos is too expensive," Hiei muttered.

"Not if your uncle sees it as an investment."

"Haven't we taken enough money from him already?"

"This isn't a charity case. Uncle Paul expects to get it all  
back and more. That's what 'investment' means, Three Eyes."

She liked the way he leaned into her when he spoke, as though  
they were co-conspirators in some grand and crazy scheme. "The  
tempo of this number is slower than Firebird Lament."

"But notice they sped it up when the dancers took stage."

Hiei reached down to the decimated tray of food for a nest of  
shredded daikon. "To stage such an upbeat number and stay on the  
music---quite a feat."

"Their choreographer told the Nicholas Brothers that the run-up  
and backflip off the wall were impossible."

Hiei lifted an exquisitely-scornful eyebrow. "Let me guess.  
Lermontov?"

"Not quite. But they accomplished it in a week." She gazed at  
him along her lashes. Sometimes, the fastest way to get a man to  
do what he didn't want to do was challenge his ability. "Of  
course, I couldn't expect that level of mastery from you in so  
short a time."

"Ch!" Hiei sat back, folding his arms.

"For one thing, you'd have to learn how to tap."

"Easy." He handed her a small dish of carrots and mushrooms with  
wasabi mayonnaise as a dip. "But we're not doing this."

"Come on, Dragon Boy---I can tell you want to." Her words were  
muffled by a mouthful of raw carrot.

"What part of 'N-O-spells-no' don't you understand?"

"The part where you're looking at the screen and seeing the whole  
of Firebird Lament take place in your head," she retorted.

Hiei turned the full force of his gaze on her. "You really  
scared me with that backbend thing."

"I scared myself with it too." She laid a hand on her belly.  
"But Princess Starfish and Prince Jellybean are okay."

"You know this for a fact?"

She nodded. "I can sense them now." Active little creatures,  
mostly concerned with eating and sleeping, not at all dismayed by  
the spicy food. "They're fine."

"You can't even think to do this. It's too strenuous."

"I know."

"Because you're starting to show just a little."

"Those paper-bag pants that Yuusuke and Kuwabara wear can hide a  
multitude of sins."

"Not that you're going to be wearing them."

In answer, Shayla ran the tape back to replay the number. At her  
side, Hiei was a tuning fork as Harold and Fayard tore up the  
stage. And now here was the wall stunt again. He sucked in a  
huge breath, muttered, "Amazing bastards."

She slanted a look at him. "Can you do that?"

"No." He didn't look her way. "And neither can you."

"I didn't ask will you. Can you?"

"Are you joking? You are seriously asking whether I can do a  
backflip? Did you watch the Dark Tournament tapes?"

"You know I did. But I didn't mean the backflip."

Hiei was still eating up the screen. "I think so---it's two men  
dancing, we'd have to change the choreography. But we're not  
doing it."

"How fast can you learn tap?"

A shug. "Does Lermontov teach it?"

"The Nicholas Brothers were self-taught."

"Fine. Get me tapes of their performances. I'll nail it by the  
end of the week. But you, you're just a human female."

A sweet chill of excitement raked her bare arms. "I'm as quick  
as you when it's something derivative."

"You can't do the running up the wall backflip thing."

"Of course not. But you can."

"So?"

"So. Back when White Sands Serpent was after us, you carried me  
across the ocean. You can carry me up a wall."

"No way."

"You could take me up. If I felt good enough. If Starbean and  
Jellyfish say it's all right."

"Stop making a mess of my twins' names."

"Be grateful I don't call them Snuggles and Megatron."

"You're not doing this at all," Hiei warned.

She remained silent. This time it was Hiei who grabbed the  
remote, ran the tape back to the beginning of the Nicholas  
Brothers' number, then pressed Play again. "Don't go all-out in  
rehearsal," he muttered.

"I won't."

"Save the redline for the shoot."

She gave a squeak of pleasure and pressed close to him. Again,  
he turned to her, his eyes alight.

"I need more tuna roll," she said, primly.

0-0-0-0-0

Brazil is a land of contrast. One city in particular, Rio de  
Janeiro, while famed for its glittering resorts and festive  
Carnival, also plays host to some of the world's most fetid  
slums.

Rio has served as backdrop for numerous films---1946's Notorious,  
1959's Black Orpheus, and 1979's Moonraker, to name only three.

It surprises many people that Brazil contains the largest  
Japanese population outside of Japan, along with the largest  
population of Roman Catholics anywhere. The giant statue of  
Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) stretches out His arms from  
His home high in the Corcovado mountains.

A coastal city, Rio de Janeiro's language is the musical, gliding  
Portuguese, heard on its lush Girl-From-Ipanema beaches.

Carlos could not tell you much of those beaches, nor of the  
Copacabana Palance and other luxury hotels frequented by wealthy  
tourists, although he has come to appreciate good architecture.

He could, however, tell you a great deal of the favelas  
surrounding the city.

Racked with violence that includes organized hunts for feral  
street children, the homeland Carlos left behind is also a hotbed  
of organ harvesting, drug trade, and white slavery.

Carlos had a younger sister, Bebita, a bright, smiling thing with  
curling brown hair and eyes as dark as his. Their mother had  
died when Carlos was five; he had no idea who his father was.  
All that mattered was Bebita, and he looked after her.

When Carlos reached the age of seven, Bebita disappeared. He  
never saw her again.

Later, as an adult steeped in the ways of the world, Carlos came  
to the conclusion that Bebita had fallen prey to white slavers,  
who do not recoil at taking youngsters, or the organ harvesters,  
who are equally opportunistic.

There had been no hunt the night Bebita vanished, and Carlos  
remembered every incident of gunfire, because he had survived  
them all, protecting his little sister until the day she was no  
longer at his side.

Money was the way out of the favela cess-pit.

The hunters who came gunning for street urchins, men who had  
tired of animal targets and wanted to bring down humans where  
there would be no repercussions, those men had money.

After Bebita was gone, Carlos attached himself to a hunt  
organizer. It was good to stop dodging bullets.

Not too long afterward, he moved up to the drug trades.

Carlos no longer called Brazil home. But in addition to  
Portuguese, he could also speak a smattering of English, French,  
Spanish, and Japanese.

And recently, one or two Makai dialects.

A self-made man in any language, comfortable in both jungle and  
city. But sometimes, he had to get away from it all.

Carlos stood on the roof of the rose-brick building that the Boss  
had vacated back in May. Dusk settled over his shoulders,  
casting its gloom over the notorious Myu-Myu district. Up here,  
he could not even smell the car exhaust, though the incessant  
honking still assaulted his ears.

Tokyo sometimes reminded him of Rio: also a coastal city, though  
it lacked favelas. Lights were pricking out against the oncoming  
night. To the southeast, miles away, lay the harbor district;  
Carlos imagined he could see all the way to the warehouse, though  
that, of course, was impossible.

He wondered whether the Boss's Eye could see him.

Carlos had just spoken to two of the human redshirts in the Boss'  
employ, those men who had been left behind to maintain a  
stronghold in this building.

In the drug trades, you blew someone away when he became a  
threat. And you did it quick. Elaborate schemes carried their  
own dangers. Though he was no lily-livered pantywaist, torture  
for torture's sake was not exactly Carlos's style. Besides, as a  
chopper pilot, he'd had little access, and even less input, to  
the daily business of his employers, and he liked it that way.

Until opportunity arose, in the form of a self-proclaimed demon  
king with seemingly limitless pocketbook. Carlos would do what  
needed to be done.

The Boss had hatched a long-range plan. Revenge, as the Spanish  
proverb went, might well be a dish best served cold. But for the  
life of him, Carlos could not imagine what the target had done to  
merit this.

Gazing down at the city, Carlos felt a pang of regret.

The rose-brick 'palace' was a nice building with clean lines, far  
too good to be blown to bits. Still, everything had its ultimate  
purpose, and every plan required a sacrifice.

0-0-0-0-0

One week after his introduction to the Nicholas Brothers, Hiei  
stood 'backstage' next to Shay-san, surveying last-minute  
preparations. Even though all appeared to be going well, he felt  
the chill of coming danger.

At nearly five minutes, with most of the action pushing the  
redline, Firebird Lament was the equivalent of running a mile at  
40-yard-dash speeds. A grueling performance, even for Hiei.

And greatly daring.

Whereas there had been about a half-dozen camera cuts in the  
Nicholas Brothers number, Firebird Lament would be filmed in its  
entirety, as one long take.

No one did that.

Today's videos contain any number of jump cuts, partly to make  
things easier on directors and producers, and partly, Hiei  
suspected, to make viewers believe they are watching 'art.'

Yukawa Kenji, the bustling little volleyball of a man who had  
directed their first video, had protested the Firebird Lament  
set-up, but with Uncle Paul Kidd as producer of the video, Yukawa  
relented with good cheer.

"Whatever happens," Shay-san told the crew, "don't stop."

To that end, numerous cameras would track their movements, so  
Yukawa-san could have what he called 'coverage:' sufficient  
footage to piece together the dance number.

Hiei and Shay-san had to hit their marks flawlessly, and she had  
to do it while lip-synching the song.

The long days spent in rehearsal had proven invaluable, if a bit  
tough on Hiei's left knee, which had never been the same since  
his battle against the Shifter.

Hiei had learned that famed ballet choreographer George  
Balanchine, impressed with the Nicholas Brothers, approached  
them, believing they were trained ballet dancers. "But they  
weren't," Shay-san informed him. "Like you, they picked it up  
watching other dancers."

Shay-san didn't go full-out in rehearsal, but instead merely hit  
her marks at what Urameshi called "quarter-impulse speed,'  
singing the number under her breath. Hiei wasn't even certain  
she could perform the acrobatic moves at all.

Set-building and nightclub rentals being prohibitively expensive,  
they were using the Charisma ballroom. No multi-level stage  
here. They would enter from opposite ends of the floor during  
the musical intro, giving them time to do bits of business with  
the extras before coming together to dance.

The 'extras' consisted of the usual suspects: Lermontov,  
Urameshi, Kurama, Shiori, Kuwabara, Keiko, and Hatanaka Shuuichi,  
a good-natured kid of 13 or so (son of the man Shiori was  
seeing), excited to be in the video. Father Brian had too many  
appointments, Shizuru could not get off work, and Yukina, much to  
the idiot's disappointment, did not wish to be filmed.

As if on cue, Lermontov got up and sauntered toward them. The  
Russian dance sensei was decked out in a dark, flashy suit, sans  
his usual gypsy headscarf. Hiei braced himself for the  
inevitable encounter.

Lermontov reached their side, looking them up and down along his  
aquiline nose, like an emperor surveying the peasant rabble. A  
smile lifted the corners of his imperious mouth. "You know," he  
sighed, "even I cannot fully hate you now."

From the director's chair, Yukawa-san spotted the 'stray' extra  
and sent a production assistant to escort Lermontov back.

Hiei watched them go, not satisfied until the Russian was firmly  
ensconced next to Keiko.

"Will the extras behave?" Hiei shot a look at his firebird. She  
was wearing the notorious paper-bag pants in a dove gray color,  
held up by red suspenders; Hiei wore them as well. But where  
Hiei had on a white sleeveless shirt so tight he marveled that he  
could breathe, she wore some loose, girly white blouse that left  
her sleek arms bare, and carried a red silk handkerchief.

"They will," she assured him. "Of that I have no doubt."

"What did you do---cast a spell on them?"

Her enigmatic smile made Hiei highly uneasy.

Even though Kurama and Drs. Smith and Gojo had assured him Shay-  
san was in a state of roaring good health, he remained  
unconvinced. "You're not doing that backflip," he warned.

"Maybe." Equally enigmatic, equally nerve-racking, she shot him  
a gold-glimmered glance along eyes heavily lined in black. "Now  
if you'll excuse me, I have some serious puking to do."

Hiei watched her wend her way to the bathroom. "Baka onna," he  
said under his breath.

Then he spotted Kurama, strolling toward him from the staging  
area, jacket flung carelessly over one shoulder.

Ducking back, Hiei darted along the carpeted hallway past busy  
production assistants to a remote corner. The last thing he  
wanted now was any sort of distraction; his knee was already  
throbbing, and he had hastily taped it in an attempt to both stem  
the pain and allow him to perform.

It was no good. Kurama found him as he tried, in a corner  
crowded with sound equipment, to conceal himself behind a heavy  
curtain that had been draped over a piece of wallboard.

"Hiei!" The fox-boy shook back his long russet hair. "Rumor has  
it you'll be required to smile in this production."

"It's called acting." His back to the wall, Hiei shot a warning  
glance at Kurama. "And I don't have time for games now."

"Nor do you have time for that botch job on your knee."

"Aren't you supposed to be out there playing an extra?"

"Now, now, Hiei." Kurama waggled an irritating finger. "No need  
for one of your famed displays of temper."

"If you screw up our performance," Hiei snarled, "you're going  
to find yourself talking to an empty neck."

Shouldering back into his jacket, Kurama retorted, "You speak  
this way in front of my mother?"

Slowly, Shiori peeked out from behind Kurama. The draped  
wallboard had hidden her from Hiei's view.

"Kaasan!" Hiei gulped down the rest of his threat.

She smiled, delighted to see him as always, her sweet oval face  
framed by wings of smooth black hair. "Hello, Hi-chan."

"You needn't be so familiar with him, Mother. Snapping your  
fingers under his nose and shouting 'Hey, you!' is good enough."

Now it was Kurama's turn to be chastised. "Shuiichi!" Shiori  
gave him a reproving shake of her head.

"But, Kaasan." Kurama conjured one of those who-me looks. "Hiei  
likes people who insult him. Take his wife---please."

Kaasan's eyes were slits of merriment. "And just where is the  
lovely Shay-san?"

"In the toilet," Hiei informed her. "Puking."

"You have such a way with words, Hi-chan. Morning sickness?"

"No, she's past that. Stage fright."

"Oh, poor thing!" Shiori peered worriedly toward the rest rooms.  
"Perhaps I should go talk to her."

"Leave it---she's better off alone." Then, to soften his  
sttemtn, Hiei added, "Besides, we're getting ready to start."

"Which brings me to my purpose," interjected Kurama.

"Purpose?" Hiei didn't like the sound of that word. It had a  
long, time-consuming ring to it.

"Your knee bandages. Let me re-do them."

Perceiving that it would be quicker to let Kurama fiddle the  
wraps than talk him out of it, Hiei relented.

"Drop your pants," Kurama instructed, going to one knee.

"Ku--a-hem, Shuuichi!" Hiei felt a flash of genuine alarm. "Not  
with your mother right---"

"My mother is part of the scheme." Kurama didn't miss a beat.  
"That is precisely why I risked giving Yukawa-san apoplexy and  
brought her off-set. She will stand with her back to you and  
hold out that drape, thereby blocking everyone's view."

Shuddering, Hiei complied. Already Kurama's nimble fingers were  
divesting him of his bandages. The fox-boy shook his head in  
disgust. "Who taught you to wrap---the Mummy?"

"Who taught you bedside manners?" Hiei countered. "Gojira?"

Shiori stifled a laugh. "You two squabble like siblings."

"Do NOT," asserted Hiei.

"Nuh-uhh," added Kurama, a teasing glint in his eye.

This time, Shiori giggled aloud.

Kurama fussed with an elaborate sort of butterfly wrap that  
started well below the knee joint and ended well above.

Hiei gave a wriggle of impatience. "Hurry up!" he groaned.  
"This is taking forever."

Kurama, the end of the wrap caught between his teeth, spoke in  
muffled tones. "Haste makes waste. Almost done, anyway."

"Come on, come on," urged Hiei. "I don't have all minute."

Even with her back to them, Kaasan had the look of a woman  
struggling to maintain a motherly dignity when she really wanted  
to join in the silliness.

"Ow!" Kurama had tucked in the wadded end of the bandage with a  
particularly vicious flair.

"Sorry," Kurama muttered. "It's too long."

"Well, is that MY fault?" Hiei demanded.

Kaasan laughed harder, one hand on her stomach, the heavy  
draperies threatening to fall away and expose them to onlookers.

"There." Finished, Kurama rose. "All better now?"

"Holy cow." Hiei flexed his leg. "I can actually move my knee  
without crying like a little girl."

"Oh, Hi-chan," said Shiori. "I'm certain you never cry."

"I just said that for Minamino-kun's benefit."

"No, don't thank me." Kurama dusted off his hands. "Just send  
money."

"You take checks?" Hiei tightened his belt.

"All right, Kaasan, you can turn around now," Kurama told Shiori.  
Then, seeing her doubled over, holding her stomach with laughter,  
he said coolly, "Or do I have to call an ambulance?"

"You two really should take your act on the road," Shiori  
sputtered.

"Already have," retorted Hiei.

0-0-0-0-0

Showtime.

The ballroom floor was flanked by the extras tables. Hiei stood  
in the wings, sighting his firebird in the opposite wing shaking  
out her hands, not meeting his gaze. In short, a bundle of  
nerves.

He hitched in a breath. Previously immune to stage fright, Hiei  
wondered whether her jitters were transferring themselves to him.  
It wasn't impossible; he had been able to sense her before when  
she was in pain, or terrorized by rampaging bulls.

Or maybe everything was simply moving forward too quickly, even  
for him, as if motivated by some outside force.

When they got their cue they would make their entrance, meet  
center stage, and begin the hard part.

Rather than simply emulating the way Harold and Fayard danced  
their 'Kalamazoo' number, which was two men showing off physical  
pyrotechnics, Hiei and Shay-san would be adding the twist of  
romance, telling the story of 'Firebird Lament.' Flirting,  
coming together, parting, then up and out.

They would have to return in post-production to dub their taps,  
but if they nailed the live performance today, in one take, it  
would constitute some kind of record.

If? They had to. Shay-san wasn't going to be fit to try again.  
It was do or die.

They waited for Yukawa-san to give the cue. The music would play  
so Shay-san could lip-synch, but she would be doing much more  
than merely moving her lips in silence; she would be singing  
sotto voce for a more convincing performance.

Cue entrance. The music soared, pulsed in Hiei's blood,  
instructing him what to do.

The long, chime-spangled intro. Hiei made a tumbling run to  
center stage past the tables as Shay-san performed her bit of  
business, bounding out to the extras tables, pausing to ruffle  
Kuwabara's hair---amazingly, the idiot did just as he'd been  
told, givng her a smile and a wave.

Facing the master camera, Shay-san singing sotto voce while he  
whirled around her.

Thirty seconds: first tap break. If Kurama hadn't done such a  
good job taping his knee, Hiei would have been in real trouble by  
now. The knee pain was there but bearable, a background hum.

A minute-thirty: first instrumental break. Now coming together  
for a brief run toward stage left.

Two minutes: she began flicking the handkerchief at him, snapping  
her hips to the beat.

Three minutes: bounding left and right, she, a sure-footed,  
snippy little figure ratcheting out tap clusters with terrifying  
sang-froid, he exploding into tightly-controlled footwork, both  
nudging the redline now, heart and lungs laboring near maximum.

Four minutes-thirty: hit it!

With her hand in his, her pulse beating against his palm, Hiei  
could sense her thoughts as easily as he could hear a tune on the  
radio. A chill raked his scalp. He knew what was coming.

---Take me up, she thought at him.

---You're sure?

---Take me up!

The whiplash edge of her thoughts struck him full-force. There  
was little choice. She was not physically capable of re-takes.  
All the money her uncle had invested, all the time they had spent  
in rehearsal. Hiei weighed these on the silver scales of his  
mind.

---Whatever happens, don't stop.

Running straight at the wall now. Velocity a key element. The  
aerodynamics of the backflip, easy for him, changed in pulling  
Shay-san along with him. Hand-in-hand. Arms locked to provide  
extra support. Lightning re-calculations of speed and vector.  
He couldn't do it all; she had to do her part: launching into the  
mid-air flip, keeping the locked arm, back rigid yet arched,  
allowing for the springboard of her legs to do the work. He  
would have to steady her for the landing ( a full-front split  
rather than a fore-and-aft), then pull her up, spin her out for  
the presentation and the final tap break.

Dangerous! So dangerous!

SLAM into the wall, his hand locked with hers. Three quick  
vertical steps. Now the launch into mid-air. Now the flip---his  
stomach gave a hot pulse of fear. But she was steady at his  
side, soaring into the arc of her leap.

Good landing! Her legs strong and flexible, absorbing most of  
the impact, then melting into the split. Yet even as they rose,  
then performed the spin and presentation, he knew how close they  
had come to the knife-edge of failure.

Almost out. She was starting to struggle a bit in her breathing,  
but he could sense the twins were safe.

The song ended with a longish fade-out; they continued tap-  
dancing until the music winnowed down to a thread of sound.

And out. The director yelled "Cut!" The bell clanged.

His firebird fell flat on her back, in the middle of the floor.  
Hiei dropped to his knees, heedless of the pain. Why had he  
obeyed her demand to 'take me up?'

The extras surged from their tables in a clatter of chairs,  
Kurama foremost. Yukawa-san hurried to the fallen girl-warrior.

But Hiei could still sense his firebird's thoughts, her feelings,  
the roaring of blood through her veins. "It's okay," he called.  
"She's just sucking wind."

From flat on her back, Shay-san gave the V-for-Victory sign,  
affirming his statement.

Kurama waved the others away, then knelt at their side. He bored  
a worried look into Hiei. "You're certain she's okay?"

"You know," wheezed Shay-san, still on her back, "this floor's  
quite comfortable."

Kurama let out a soft, laughing breath.

--We did it, she thought at Hiei. ---One take wonders. Aloud,  
she continued, "I think I'll just take a nap here."

"They'd better have coverage," muttered Hiei. Then, onlookers,  
cast and crew alike, burst into applause.

"Get up, woman," Hiei ordered. "Everyone's staring."

"Five minutes," she sighed.

-30-

(To be continued: Is there any privacy for these two?)


	10. FS C9: The Love Hotel Gambit

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C9: The Love Hotel Gambit  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: While Hiei tries to steal some alone-time, stalkers plot  
another attack.

A/N: Thanks to Accidental Enlightenment for beta-ing! Warning  
for brief bit of naughty language, but do please review.

Firebird Sweet C9: Romantic Soldier, Take Two: The Love Hotel  
Gambit  
by  
Kenshin

The concept of the Japanese Love Hotel is often misunderstood by  
gaijin.

These hotels, renting out by the hour (although they can also be  
booked for overnight stays) are not solely geared toward illicit  
transactions.

To the contrary. In crowded Japan, where many young marrieds  
live with their parents, they also provide the welcome relief of  
privacy that most Americans, unaccustomed to rice-paper walls,  
take for granted.

Often known by amusing, Westernized names, love hotels are seldom  
fleabags, and can be luxuriously appointed, with Roman baths,  
large-screen TVs, and fantasy themes. Some of the more  
outlandish examples are shaped like spaceships or giant  
representations of fruit.

Love hotels are also designed to minimize interaction with staff.  
With numerous entrances, clientele are able to slip in and out  
without attracting attention, and usually rooms are selected via  
an impersonal panel of buttons in the empty lobby, and paid for  
by inserting cash into a pneumatic tube.

And while the Kuwabara residence, being a Western style of  
architecture, lacked rice-paper walls, it also lacked the absence  
of Shizuru and Kazuma.

There was one such hotel within walking distance of Lermontov's  
dance studio.

The street on this fine hot August morning, about a month after  
the success of 'Firebird Lament,' was noisy and crowded with  
people going about their business. Jaganshi Shayla Kidd and  
Jaganshi Hiei were two of those busy people.

Even when he was not using what she called his 'teleportation'  
abilities, Hiei was hard to keep up with.

Shayla Kidd plucked at Hiei's sleeve, more to slow him down than  
to gain any comfort or protection from his touch, though she  
needed that as well; they had enjoyed precious little privacy  
since coming to Japan. Though Hiei never reminded her that she  
had wasted their only afternoon alone showing him an old movie,  
it ate at her.

Hiei turned to fix her with what was no doubt a penetrating  
glare, only it was hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that did  
nothing to disguise his distinctive appearance.

"I am not taking you to a love hotel!" he snapped.

"Why not?" She adjusted her own oversized sunglasses.

"Ch. It's a disgusting concept."

"It's a privacy issue."

Hiei pointed dramatically up the street. "And going to this  
public venue is private how?"

She walked doggedly onward; Hiei followed. "More private than  
Kuwabara Central Station," she said.

This earned her another "ch."

"And why are you shouting at me?"

"Do you have pencils in your ears? No means no."

"It doesn't cost that much."

"It's a revolting idea."

"It's only for two hours."

"I refuse. Someone could be pointing a camera even now."

"Can't spend your life in hiding, Dragon Boy."

"We'll be photographed to the shame of our children."

"Who aren't even born yet. Besides, no one's looking." I THINK.  
Darting a glance around her, Shayla wondered whether any of the  
passers-by were paparazzi in disguise, she had the uncomfortable,  
nagging sense that they were being followed.

It's just the crowd, she told herself. Not to mention a good  
case of nerves.

Sliding the sunglasses down his nose, Hiei gave her a garnet-  
hued glare this time. "You really want this sort of publicity?"

"Any publicity is good publicity," she countered. "Get a move  
on. We're blocking traffic."

Hiei got moving. "We'll catch all sorts of diseases."

"No, Three-eyes, I will. You're resistant to most human  
diseases, remember?"

"I'm not doing it." Hiei glanced at the building to the right of  
them. "Is this the one?"

'This' was the Hotel Carrot which, unlike its name, was not  
shaped like the root vegetable.

It was an unassuming four-story building, gray concrete on the  
outside, narrow of window, discreetly walled off from the street  
behind an equally-gray concrete barrier. Inside the wall, Shayla  
caught a glimpse of some rather pleasant landscaping.

Hiei slid the sunglasses back up his nose. "Wait here," he  
instructed. "I'll take a quick look and come for you if the  
coast is clear."

Trying to become invisible, she tucked her purse tight under one  
arm. I feel like a gangster, she told herself. This is stupid.  
We're not doing anything wrong.

She caught sight of Hiei bulleting out of the hotel, mouthing,  
"Coast! Clear!" Grabbing her hand, he pulled her inside the  
walls. Then they were speeding along the empty lobby and into an  
elevator.

Hiei thumbed the panel of buttons. The elevator door hushed  
shut, and they rode up. "This is stupid," he muttered.

Although privately she agreed with him, she said, "We're here,  
aren't we?"

The elevator took them to the third floor and ejected them into  
an equally empty hall that was thickly carpeted and softly lit.  
Hiei pulled her along to a room numbered 302. His card snicked  
into the lock, and they went in.

Even when Hiei snapped on the light, she had to remove her  
sunglasses to see. The room, tastefully appointed in pink shag  
carpeting and purple foiled wallpaper, smelled faintly of  
cleaning agents.

Hiei rounded on her in triumph. "See? Germs everywhere. You're  
happy? Now let's go."

"Baka." She tossed her handbag onto a pink and purple armchair.  
"You already paid, didn't you?"

"Cheap lesson, then." He darted looks around the sizable room,  
as if expecting the other members of Romantic Soldier to explode  
from behind the long silver curtains and shout: Gotcha!

"Let's go," he whispered, tugging at her hand.

"You're nervous." She grinned at him. "How kawaii."

"I am not nervous," he insisted, striding to a window to yank  
aside one of the long silver panels and dart a glance outside.  
She could see that the room overlooked a courtyard with a neat  
little garden.

Even when Yuusuke, Kuwabara, and Kurama failed to leap out from  
behind the other set of long silver curtains, Hiei remained at  
the window, his back to her.

The room was muffled for sound, but she could hear her own heart  
beating. Still Hiei did not turn.

"All right," she sighed, defeated. "You win." She headed for  
the door.

Quick enough to take her breath away, Hiei was at her side. In a  
spasm of whirling muscles, he pulled her close, then dumped her  
onto the bed.

0-0-0-0-0

The heavy, dangerous purr of Hiei's voice woke her. "Hey.  
Stupid woman. Get up."

Someone bit her arm. Someone with whose strong white teeth she  
was intimately familiar.

"Time to go," Hiei insisted.

"Five minutes," she groaned, and rolled away from him.

"No five minutes." He smacked her rump. "Time's up."

"You're mean."

"Come on, woman. Don't make me dress you myself."

She rolled over, facing him with a great deal of amusement. "As  
if you'd know how."

The dark, expressive brows rose. "Is this a challenge?" The  
corners of his mouth twitched; he reached across her for the  
mint-green camisole that lay on the pillow.

"Give me that thing." She snatched the scrap of silk from his  
hand, aware of his eyes on her as she dressed, a faint warm flush  
rising to her cheeks.

We should do this more often, she told herself, and then it was  
her turn to watch him dress. That only distracted her more.

Decently clad at last, they tiptoed into the empty hallway, then  
rode down the elevator in languorous silence.

"Maybe we could do this more often," Hiei murmured, as if he'd  
read her mind.

She often wondered whether he could.

The elevator dinged, depositing them in the lobby. She opened  
her mouth to echo agreement, when Hiei cut across her sentiment:  
"Oh, crap."

There was another couple in the lobby, poking gingerly at the  
panel of buttons provided for room selection.

Hiei ducked back into the elevator, and she looked at him a bit  
helplessly. "There's a back way out, I think," she whispered.

Nodding, Hiei lifted her in his arms. "Hang on," he cautioned,  
then thumbed the elevator open again.

Knowing from experience what was coming, she clung tight and shut  
her eyes against the inevitable vertigo of traveling at Hiei-  
speed, and the rush of air as Hiei 'teleported' them down the  
hall away from the other couple.

The back entrance gave onto the landscaped courtyard, where she  
spent a few minutes sighing in relief and admiring the view. The  
flight had disarranged her hair, and she instinctively reached  
for her handbag to pull out a little brush to set it right again.

Her hand found nothing. "Oh, no!"

Hiei spun to face her, alarmed. "What is it?"

"I left my BAG in the room."

He relaxed visibly. "So?"

"So it has all my ID in it! And my candy!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Wait here. I'll look."

"But you'll have to go back into the lobby," she protested.

He shot her a smug glance. "I think maybe you forget who you're  
talking to. And our room was facing the courtyard."

Hiei darted to the building and bounded up the wall, then  
rocketed back down to approach her, his left eye twitching.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone's using the room."

"Already?"

"Already."

"Fifty billion rooms in that overdecorated joint and they have to  
pick the one we just used?"

"Room 302. Probably the same couple we spotted when the elevator  
opened," he muttered.

"What are we going to do?"

Hiei shrugged. "Wait here two hours. Then I'll get it."

"What if whoever's in there steals my bag?"

His face clouded.

"Think of it," she went on. "My purse with my ID found in one of  
these joints. Can't you see the headlines?"

"I thought you were the one who said any publicity is good  
publicity."

She put a hand to her head, groaning. "And we can't stay here  
for two hours---we're due back at the studio."

"Ch. As if Lermontov isn't already mad at us."

She peered worriedly up at Room 302. "Maybe they won't take the  
whole two hours. Maybe that man is faster than you are when it  
comes to certain things."

"Shut up." Flushing slightly, Hiei shot a determined look at the  
hotel, then glanced around the little courtyard.

Twisted cypress trees and well-trimmed yews surrounded a  
showpiece boulder low enough for seating. Hiei pulled her along  
and placed her on the rock. "You like rocks, yes?"

"I liked them when we were sitting on top of one looking down at  
El Chupacabra and I like them now."

"I'm going up again. Try not to attract attention. Pretend  
you're a tree or something."

"Or something," she assured him.

While he was gone she waited, placing her hands flat on either  
side of her. The boulder was warm from the sun.

Hiei, she reflected, was like Lake Champlain: calm and glassy on  
the surface, but containing bottomless depths---possibly with  
monsters.

Her sigh was underscored by the shrill sawing of cicadas. We  
need our own house, she thought wistfully, looking around the  
courtyard. A house with a little yard like this. A sitting rock  
and some bushes. Kurama could help with the landscaping.

What are you thinking, she admonished herself. Even with the  
success of 'Firebird Lament,' they lacked the money to rent an  
apartment of their own, much less a house.

The bushes rustled. Something was in them, watching her. Hope  
it's nothing worse than a squirrel, she thought.

It was not a squirrel.

Jaki are small bipedal demons of varying coloration, size and  
ability. One thing they have in common is a low level of ki.  
This, combined with their innate stealth, makes them perfect as a  
messenger and spy class.

Hornless, the jaki in the bushes had a very human-appearing face.  
An odd little specimen, with a broken nose that had set badly,  
giving it a distinctive right-hand twist.

A tuft of rufous hair atop its head stood out like a demented  
Mohawk, and it had a prehensile tail that was wrapped around the  
branch of the yew where it sat, regarding her intently with its  
glittering black eyes.

So they had been followed. Her suspicions were correct. Well.  
What an excellent opportunity to give Command Voice another trial  
run.

Tapping her fingers on the rock before her, she called to it.  
The jaki tensed, bunching its muscles to dart away, tail flicking  
nervously.

"Heeere, jakijakijaki," she purred. In fits and starts,  
resembling a squirrel so much that she had to stifle laughter, it  
drew closer to her, then stopped just outside her reach. "What a  
good jaki," she told it. "Come to Shay-Shay. That's a good  
jaki. What are you doing here?"

"Spying on you." Its piping voice was that of a child.

"What a good little jaki! Do you like candy?"

The liquid black eyes narrowed; it flicked a glance sideways.  
"Yes. What's candy?"

"I have some in my bag."

"There's a demon coming up behind you," it said. "Black hair.  
Black coat. Red eyes."

"Good little jaki!" she enthused, not wanting to take her eyes  
from it. "Hiei," she said, not turning. "Approach slowly." She  
heard his slow, measured footfalls. "Come around where I can see  
you."

Hiei stood before her, holding her bag clamped under one arm.  
His garnet gaze flicked to the jaki. "What the---?"

"Shhhh." Back to Command: "Jakijakijaki. Let the nice demon  
pick you up."

"Okay."

Hiei gave her a puzzled glance, yet he reached for the creature,  
curling one hand around it.

"My bag?"

Still holding the jaki, Hiei gave her the purse.

"Here you go, little jaki." She rummaged her purse for the  
Lifesavers and extracted a yellow one for the creature.

"Hey---" Hiei protested. "How come he gets a Lifesaver and I  
don't?"

"Eat the whole roll if you want," she told him, watching the  
jaki. It held the candy in its little claws and began to crunch  
greedily. "Jakijakijaki. Good little jaki. Who sent you?"

"Can't tell you." Its voice was somewhat gluey with candy.  
"Give me another."

Hiei snorted. "How about I kill it instead?" he suggested,  
tightening his fist ever so slightly on the little creature.

"Stop!" she cried, in genuine alarm, recalling the jaki whose  
neck Hiei had broken at the Spencer ranch in Arizona, back in the  
days before she even knew what a jaki was.

And now that she did know---

She did not want this one killed. Not long ago, the twins had  
started kicking. The jaki's bodily warmth, its childlike voice,  
had set her maternal instincts firing on all eight cylinders.  
"Don't crush him," she pleaded. "He might become a valuable  
resource."

"Valuable? A jaki? If it bites me I promise nothing."

"Hiei!"

"Oh, all right. You can summon Botan. Or that nitwit Hinageshi.  
Someone to take this little monster. Let Koenma sweat it for a  
while."

"No, wait," she began, and held out her hand. "Give him back to  
me."

"Why?" Hiei protested, but handed the creature over.

The jaki nestled on her palm, blinking at her dopily. Slowly she  
put out a forefinger to ruffle the Mohawk, causing him to shut  
his eyes and gave a little shiver of delight. Then she went to  
scratching his ears. He was just about purring.

"You never do that to me," muttered Hiei.

Holding her hand flat so he could get away at any time, she  
crooned, "Jakijakijaki. Come and tell me things from time to  
time. I'll give you candy."

"Uh-huh," he piped, opening his eyes.

Hiei knelt at her side, his voice low. "They have no concept of  
right and wrong. You do realize that."

Leaning forward, she deposited the creature back in the yew bush.  
He remained where he was, his liquid black eyes intent upon her.

"You're nuts," Hiei informed her.

"At any rate, let's not come here again."

"Don't worry." Hiei gave a little shudder. "I will build you an  
entire house, brick by brick, with my own two hands, before that  
happens."

"Jakijakijaki," she purred. "Want another piece of candy?"

He nodded, his eyes huge.

"Hey," protested Hiei. "Save me red one."

0-0-0-0-0

Inside Warehouse Number Four, Carlos sat at a card table,  
engrossed in a baguette thickly spread with ripe, runny Brie. He  
was only a bit annoyed when an oni approached. "Hey, Chief---Boss  
wants to see you in his office."

Carlos glanced at the creature. It was impossible to tell  
whether it was pale with fear, or blushing with embarrassment, or  
cool as a cucumber, because its skin was a dusky plum color from  
its black-maned head to its clawed feet.

Sighing, Carlos rose, still grasping his sandwich, then went to  
the half-open office door and knocked.

"C'mon in," rumbled the Boss.

The office reeked of stale sweat, and the bitter undertone of  
sake. The demon king, sitting with his boots propped up at the  
gray steel desk, looked so much like the cat that swallowed the  
canary Carlos was surprised there weren't tell-tale feathers  
sticking from the corners of his mouth.

"You wanted to see me?"

Was it possible the Boss was finally getting around to discussing  
their purchase of an old chopper? The logistics of where they  
would 'park' the thing, and how the Boss would get to it when  
escape became necessary, had proven particularly thorny.

The Boss gave a toadlike grin. "Whatcha know 'bout poisons?"

"Not much," Carlos admitted, around another mouthful of sandwich.

"Takes more'n any ordinary poison t'kill a fire demon," the Boss  
went on. "An' I know 'em all." Rising from the chair, the Boss  
patted his belt.

Carlos had never really studied the demon king's belt, much of it  
being hidden by his overhanging gut. Black like the close-  
fitting black breeches encasing his legs, the belt was some two  
inches wide, and, Carlos now saw, hung about with pale gray  
leather pouches. Taking another bite, Carlos nodded.

"Poisons, venoms, toxins, whatever ya want, I got. Some that'll  
stop yer heart dead in minutes. Some that's gotta be injected to  
work, an' some that's tasteless so's you'd never even notice it  
in your food." The Boss shot him a sly glance.

Carlos stopped chewing. The sandwich turned to cardboard in his  
mouth.

Throwing back his head, the Boss roared with laughter. "If you  
could see yer face just now! Don't worry. I ain't put nothin'  
in yer food."

Swallowing a paste of bread and cheese that felt like gravel,  
Carlos put the sandwich down. He half-believed that any moment,  
his throat would swell with the effects of some exotic poison,  
and he would choke, then cease to breathe at all.

"'Sides," the Boss chuckled wetly, "there's somethin' I want ya  
to do for me now."

Sweat prickling his back, Carlos awaited instructions. After he  
heard them he returned to the cavernous space and found his way  
to the card table again. Some of the oni had fled after the Boss  
immolated the orange one. 'Go buy more,' the Boss had said. But  
Carlos had to take up the slack with humans.

None of the Boss' oni could pass for human. Only the Shifter had  
that ability.

In any organization, you make friends. Well. Maybe not friends  
in the strictest sense, but fellows you drank and joked with and  
played cards with. Here, they called him "Chief," ceded their  
tables to him, but never invited him in on their card games or  
their games of dice fashioned of human skulls.

He hadn't learned their names, not like Gutierrez and Tasco, his  
men in the rose-brick building. He simply referred to them by  
color.

There were ten in the main group. Two had been killed already:  
Orange, of course, and earlier on, Big Gray, courtesy of the  
target's associates.

It was Green, the one who'd clued Carlos in during the Boss'  
bender, who had fled, taking Yellow---appropriate name---with it.

This left only six oni and one Shifter, the other Shifter having  
been blown away by their target.

Carlos spent some time studying the oni who were gathered around  
the other card table, ignoring their glances and whispers.

There was Purple, big, brutal, black-maned, who had given Carlos  
the message. Red, his counterpart and near-twin. Olive, no  
larger than a big human and the first Carlos had met, along with  
Little Gray, a quiet fellow who knew about the Boss' history and  
the strange relationship he had with the Water Dancers. Ocher,  
keeper of the bone dice, and Brown.

Carlos made his choice at last. Brown was big, but also  
relatively fast. That one would do for the Boss' latest job.

0-0-0-0-0

One day after his visit to Hotel Carrot, Hiei paid a visit to its  
polar opposite.

Whenever he entered the Immaculate Heart church, Hiei gave a  
little pause, aware of the sting of Holy Light as it streamed  
from every font, picture and statue.

Sting it might, but Hiei could bear it. He could even use it as  
a weapon. This made him unique among demonkind.

Silently, he passed through the outer hall, genuflecting in the  
direction where the altar lay behind oaken doors. Then he dashed  
down the short flight of stairs leading to Father Brian's office.

Near the end of the hall a dark wooden door stood in stark  
relief. Hiei knocked. The familiar, lilting voice called out  
for him to enter.

He slipped inside the crowded room with the cluttered desk wedged  
into one corner, and the religious paintings nearly hiding the  
whitewashed walls. With no windows, it was impossible to tell  
night from day here, though it was now late afternoon.

Father Brian was seated behind the desk, his attention fixed on a  
newspaper.

"Father," Hiei began. "What was so important that you couldn't  
tell me over the phone?"

Folding the newspaper, the priest shot a dangerous black glare at  
Hiei. "For an undercover agent, you sure picked yourself a  
splashy profession."

"I've got twins on the way, and bus-boying doesn't pay enough.  
Besides, I'm keeping a low profile."

Father Brian angled the newspaper toward Hiei. "Is this you,  
keeping a low profile?"

Aghast, Hiei thumped down into a chair.

The Tokyo Tattler is a notorious scandal sheet with an  
appallingly high circulation. The headline blared: Romantic  
Soldier In Love Hotel Tryst With Mystery Woman!

Beneath the screaming headline was a grainy black and white photo  
of himself and Shay-san, both wearing the flimsy disguise of  
sunglasses. They had been caught just outside Hotel Carrot.

"I need a drink," groaned Hiei.

"Tough cheese, kiddo. Rosa's on her way with coffee." The  
priest shook his head. "The pair of you couldn't look any  
guiltier if you'd just committed mass murder with a side order of  
shoplifting."

"But we did nothing wrong---I mean, it's not what it looks like,"  
protested Hiei. His insides had begun to churn.

"It's exactly what it looks like. Did you think I was born  
yesterday, in a turnip truck?"

"But that's not---"

"Please. I know whose photo it is, you dumb little shit. Give me  
some credit for bein' able to recognize a member of me own flock,  
much less me favorite little colleen. But the damage is already  
done. By the time you force 'em to print a retraction, no one  
will care."

"Shay-san will be embarrassed," Hiei said, almost to himself, his  
mind racing horribly. "Kaasan will---"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of fame."

"Whatever happened to love the sinner, hate the sin?"

"Sometimes love comes on the end of a fist." Clenching one work-  
scarred hand for emphasis, Father Brian used the other to cover  
up the paper.

An instant later Hiei knew why. Rosa slid into the office,  
bearing a tray with two styrofoam cups of coffee, a middle-aged  
woman with dark hair and eyes and almost invisible demeanor. She  
deposited the tray, then, silent as a ghost, slid back out.

Hiei grabbed his coffee, took it at a gulp, then shuddered at the  
bitter taste. "We needed privacy, me and my firebird."

The priest removed his hand from the offending headline. "If you  
call this privacy."

"But I have every right to be with my own---"

"Doesn't matter. I've got the one sister who's with the Boston  
Blazers roller derby team, that's Bridget, and the other's been  
singin' in nightclubs since I was in swaddlin' clothes, Theresa  
that is, so I know all about the inclinations of the print  
media."

Crumpling his cup and tossing it into the wastebasket, Hiei shot  
the priest a suspicious look. "I thought you said your sister  
was a Dominican nun."

"Ursula?" The priest shrugged. "I've so many I lose track." He  
looked again at the screaming headlines. "Ah, me. Now  
everyone's seen it, every last man, woman and child in the  
parish. I'm sure at some point even Rosa will pick up on it,  
bless her innocent soul."

"She still scared of me?"

"I promised her there'd be no killin'."

"Well. That's a load off." Dusting styrofoam from his pants,  
Hiei rose.

"Oh, and kiddo?"

Hiei's eye threatened to start twitching. "What."

"Don't go usin' your Sword of the Archangel on any of the  
paparazzi."

"Thanks for the advice, Father." With his left eye twitching  
like a frog on a griddle, Hiei left the priest's office.

0-0-0-0-0

Down the hall from Father Brian's office is the church bathroom,  
which is open to the staff at any hour, and to churchgoers during  
most hours. A dormitory-style design, it is a long tiled room  
with four stalls and two sinks.

Standing at the sink closest to the door is Rosa, church  
secretary, most harmless of creatures, her dark eyes curiously  
flat and unseeing as she stares into the mirror.

She enters one of the stalls and extracts from the pocket of her  
simple gray dress a tiny bottle, the kind used to transport Holy  
Water. Opening its screw top, she upends the contents into the  
commode.

A keen observer might note the slightly un-natural stiffness of  
her movements, as though she were a very advanced robot, operated  
by a remote control from which all the bugs had not quite been  
worked out.

It takes only a moment to empty the bottle of its clear liquid;  
her instructions have been to add a mere drop or two to the  
target's coffee. Any more and the bitterness of its taste would  
be a tip-off.

Still dull of eye and stiff of movement, she flushes away all  
evidence that there was ever anything inside the bottle more  
damaging, and far more sinister, than Holy Water.

0-0-0-0-0

Awakening in a graveyard at night is a sobering sight for any  
creature, human or demon.

Cold, stiff, with an acrid taste in his mouth, and a throbbing  
drumbeat behind his eyes---all three of them---Hiei sat up and  
took in his surroundings.

He inhabited a city of the dead.

Fog slithered close to the ground, winding around the headstones  
like ghosts.

Ch, he thought. Someone slipped me a mickey. Is it beyond even  
Father Brian to put knockout drops in my coffee to teach me a  
lesson? If not, who? Not Rosa, certainly. But someone.  
Symptoms unmistakable. Headache, dizziness, thick head, old-  
sweatsock taste...

He groped for the 'Bat-phone' in his pocket, but his fingers were  
clumsy. And anyway, he told himself, what would you say? Pick  
me up, I'm in a graveyard. Where? Don't know.

A single glance assured him this wasn't the Immaculate Heart  
cemetery; the gravestones were not of Christian design, but big  
marble obelisks bearing no cross.

He made it to his knees, then sucked in a breath.

On the ground near him lay a dead oni---a big one, dark of skin,  
and in pieces now.

The fog in Hiei's head matched the fog in the air. I don't  
remember killing that, he thought.

Flicking his gaze elsewhere, he spotted a nearby tree.

When in doubt, go vertical.

He was too cold, too stiff, his knees were on fire, and his leap  
wasn't what it should be, but he made it into that tree.

And was promptly slammed down again by something that felt like  
an iron club. Landing hard, Hiei rolled, fetched up against a  
headstone, struggled to his feet, panting.

No enemy in sight. Yet Hiei sensed demonic ki. Heard laughter,  
rich with malice.

"Whyn'cha use your DRAGON," said a thick, mocking voice,  
difficult to pinpoint in this fog.

There came another needling laugh, and a lighter, quicker voice:  
"Haven't you heard? Dragons are out of style this year."

His back to a headstone, Hiei could see no one, but if someone  
had slammed him down from the tree, then that someone must still  
be up it.

He raised his head. There: lambent eyes looking down on him from  
the leaf-frilled branches. The eyes were situated far apart in a  
wedge-shaped head, the whole creature resembling a man-sized  
dinosaur. The dusky green body was strong and whiplike. Hiei's  
gaze traveled to the tail wrapped around the tree trunk.

In Raptor-type demons, that tail can be used as a fifth limb. It  
makes quite a deadly weapon.

Hiei sneered. "Stragglers from that barrier rift in May?"

"Ooo," chuckled the Raptor. "Smart guy's figured it out all by  
himself."

Hiei wasted no further breath. Raptors were not only armed with  
tooth and claw, but speed that was nearly a match for his. And  
this one wasn't alone. There was another demon around somewhere,  
possibly another Raptor. Keeping one eye on the enemy in the  
tree, Hiei cast his senses about.

"Lookin' for this, pal?" From behind the headstone, a clawed  
hand the size of Hiei's head slammed down into his shoulder.  
Snarling in pain, Hiei spun to face his attacker.

A One-eye! Thickly furred, it had a single, oversized eye, its  
head connecting to the husky body sans benefit of a neck. With  
long, clawed arms it looked a bit like an animated cactus. Hiei  
reached back for the comfort of his katana.

It wasn't there. Uttering a wicked curse, he cast around for his  
sword while the enemy jeered.

"What's wrong?" cooed the Raptor. "Baby lost his rattle?"

"C'mon," said the One-eye, gesturing Hiei to come close. "I got  
the goods to put you outta your misery quick, punk."

"Quick's my middle name," interjected the Raptor from its tree.  
"But let's have a bit of fun before we kill him."

"Sounds like a plan. Wanna make the little creep beg?"

"Sure! What color is his blood, do you suppose?"

Sloppy! Hiei berated himself; Careless! The sword should've been  
your first thought!

He spotted it beyond the body of the dead oni. Darting forward  
to grab it, his fingers scraped the sheath, but the Raptor hurled  
itself down from the tree. With a blow from its long tail, it  
knocked Hiei spinning away from his sword.

In a flash, the One-Eye was upon him, claws snaked around his  
neck.

With his right hand Hiei fumbled for his Rosary. The other  
lashed out at the One-eye, but the Raptor was already on his  
back, fangs piercing his shoulder before it danced away.

Hiei struggled to wrench free of the One-eye's claws. But the  
knockout drops had weakened him. There was a pounding of blood  
in his ears. Sparks danced before his eyes. I'm losing, he  
thought, losing! To these nonentities!

Another cry, full-throated, split the air above him: "Iron reaver  
soul-stealer!"

The One-eye exploded into a swath of blood and gristle.

Wasting no time, Hiei flicked to his sword, yanked it from its  
saya, and bisected the startled Raptor before pain could even  
register on its nerve endings.

Unlike his own nerve endings; with the small effort it took to  
split the Raptor in two, Hiei felt as though his body had been  
dipped in an acid bath. Raptors are not poisonous, but the bite  
was deep, and throbbed nastily.

Peering through the fog to make out his rescuer, Hiei saw the  
white-haired hanyou boy they had encountered at the Crazy Dog  
Diner.

"Man!" The hanyou scowled at Hiei. "Do you ever look like you  
drank from the wrong end of the bottle."

Hiei regarded the dog-boy in silence.

"Someone musta been looking out for you, though, 'cause I was  
gettin' close to the shrine, but I got this funny feeling and  
turned around." He surveyed the bodies of the three youkai.  
"Lucky for you."

"Why did you---?" Throat still raw from the strangling, Hiei  
could not speak further. He sank to his knees, coughing.

The boy waited for silence, then shrugged. "I owed ya one for  
lettin' me go back then, runt." And before Hiei could say  
anything else, he went leaping off through the trees in a flash  
of scarlet garb and silver hair.

It took a while before Hiei recovered enough to retrieve his saya  
and shove it into his belt. The enemy had known about the loss  
of his Dragon. He would have to file a report. Just now, until  
his head cleared, he had no wish to speak with Father Brian.

The wind picked up, shredding the last lingering fronds of fog.  
Somewhere above, a nightthroat called.

Straightening, Hiei looked around for the graveyard's exit.

Then collapsed against a headstone, partly from the lingering  
effects of the drug, partly from the double sting of pain and  
humiliation.

I can't even defend myself! he railed. How am I going to keep  
my family safe?

-30-

(To be continued: Smoke and mirrors.) 


	11. FS C10: Chasing The Dragon

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C10: Chasing The Dragon  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Summary: Hiei decides to take matters into his own hands and find  
the mystery man.

A/N: Warning for language

LJ Tag: If only Hiei had realized!

Firebird Sweet C10: Chasing The Dragon  
by  
Kenshin

"Oi, Hiei!" Urameshi Yuusuke elbowed Hiei in the ribs. "Did you  
really have to light the set on fire?"

Hiei nodded. "Afraid so."

Still gripping his prop katana, Hiei sat in a folding chair on  
the sidelines, he and Urameshi watching frantic technicians run  
around the smoking sound stage, spraying fire extinguishers  
everywhere, even though he had only ignited a minute portion of  
the set, and only on the last shot.

The set inside this downtown production center was different  
today. Instead of the stark black floor and backdrop dotted with  
fake boulders, there was only a simple wooden frame the size of a  
door, with a paper screen stretched over it.

One month after the Love Hotel Scandal and subsequent battle in  
the cemetery, things had settled down. Hiei ended up calling in  
Kurama to treat his injuries, swearing him to secrecy.

He had told no one else, not even Shay-san, who was angry, and  
not play-mad either.

But she was not angry because of the battle.

Nor was she angry because of The Tattler's screaming headlines.  
They had both, of course, been subject to a great deal of  
scrutiny following that particular fiasco. Urameshi's laughter  
and jeers were predictable enough, as was Kurama's reaction: 'I  
don't like this,' the kitsune had said. 'It could be a sign of  
worse things to come.'

'But what about Kaasan?' Hiei responded. 'If she sees---"

'You, my friend, cannot do wrong in her eyes. It's the only  
matter in which she takes leave of her eminently good sense.'

Kuwabara's reaction had been a surprise. 'Bastards,' he growled,  
shredding the tabloid.

Today was the first time Hiei had been alone with Urameshi since  
the Spirit Detective had 'rescued' him in Youyougi Kouen. "They  
look like cockroaches." Sniggering, Urameshi jerked his head in  
the direction of the scurrying stagehands.

One of the "cockroaches," the director's assistant, hurried over,  
darting nervous glances at Hiei, literally wringing his hands.  
"That was a shock! Are you sure you're---"

"I'm fine." Hiei waved off the kid's concern. "Not so much as a  
blister."

"The insurance company's gonna pitch a fit," he moaned.

Hiei shot a glance at Yukawa Kenji. His director was sitting in  
the far corner of the sound stage, head in hands. "Then don't  
tell them."

"Don't tell them?" The kid's eyes widened. "Part of the set  
burned up! How can we not---"

"Pretend it was a special effect," Hiei interrupted, ignoring  
Urameshi's barely-controlled laughter. "Keep the shot. It works  
in context with the storyline anyway."

The kid brightened. "That's a thought."

"Yeah. You go and tell Yukawa-san."

Nodding, the kid trotted off.

"You meant for that to happen?" Urameshi stabbed a skeptical  
look at Hiei.

Hiei kept an eye on the assistant speaking to Yukawa. He could  
tell the director was getting to like the idea; the round little  
man was smiling and nodding, no longer mopping his brow with a  
handkerchief. "Now we wait for the rushes to see whether I  
nailed the shot or the flames blew the camera lens."

"She's not here today?"

She. Whenever an unspecified 'she' cropped up in any  
conversation, it meant his firebird.

Hiei realized he didn't bond with people quickly. Kuwabara and  
I, he reflected, we rub one another the wrong way, but I've got  
his back and he's got mine. Urameshi, I got used to.

But Kurama? Yes---as if they'd known one another for years.  
From battling enemies together, to friendly bickering, to  
wordless accord. Shiori also had taken to him at once. Perhaps  
it was something unique in her bloodline.

Strife among temporary allies was of no moment. But Shay-san was  
permanent. Funny how they'd also taken to one another  
immediately, meshing their thoughts, even their actions. Love at  
first sight, he wondered, then gave a sub-audible snort. Why be  
ashamed of it? It was what it was.

He enjoyed their sparring, their play-fights, but yesterday's  
battle was about the song, an uptempo number in a minor key. And  
it had escalated into full-blown enmity, which still pained him  
to recall:

('You do realize that 'Chasing the Dragon' refers to shooting  
heroin,' she had informed him rather coolly.

Rounding on her, he snarled, 'You could have mentioned it before  
this!'

'It's your song, your title,' she flared.

'Well, I can't change it now! And on the subject of titles, why  
'Firebird Lament?' Lament implies mourning!!')

Urameshi prodded him. "Oi, earth to Hiei! Where's your better  
half?"

Hiei blinked it away. "Resting. This is the first time we ever  
had to shoot something more than twice, and out of sequence." He  
winced. Lifting the stage katana, he handed it to Urameshi so he  
could test its heft. "Good prop. Nice weight. But even with  
its blunt edge, this could've hurt her."

The prop girl raced in to snatch the sword away, giving them both  
a scolding look. When she had gone, Urameshi turned to Hiei.  
"Mind telling me what's really going on here?"

Hiei hesitated.

"You think it's smart, revealing your battle techniques on  
camera? There are assassins who'd pay good money to get their  
hands on---"

"Come on, Yuusuke. If you were paying attention you know all I  
'revealed' were theatrical wushu moves." He edged closer.  
"Anyway, this video will tank. Worst song I ever wrote."

Urameshi smirked. "And you've written exactly---"

"Three songs. Which makes three more than you."

It was true. Most of Romantic Soldier's songs were written by  
Shay-san, who insisted on giving Urameshi and the others credit  
as lyricists, even though all they did was suggest subject  
matter. But after Hiei's initial confusion in seeing musical  
notes for the first time, he had mastered the art quickly.

They sat awhile in silence, watching technicians scuttle and  
spray. The stage was thick with smoke.

"You missed a spot," called Urameshi, helpfully. He turned to  
Hiei. "Lotta smoke for just paper in a wooden frame."

"Must be flash paper," said Hiei, all innocence.

He had invented a storyline for the song, naming Shay-san's  
character the Dragon of Smoke. Although she was still not too  
big to perform lightning footwork and low-to-the-ground spins,  
she wore a quilted, Chinese jacket and pants in fiery colors to  
echo her hair---and disguise her blossoming figure. Wielding her  
twin kodachi, those short Japanese swords which to Hiei's way of  
thinking were little more than knives, she was his opponent, and  
Hiei was supposed to be hunting her, but always she remained just  
out of his reach.

For the last shot, Hiei was supposed to burst through the paper,  
sword at the ready. The paper bore the kanji for the name of the  
song. Setting it on fire wasn't in the storyboards.

But even the pattern of his smoke was part of the message. It  
took a master of flame to be able to spell something out in smoke  
that way. Bursting through the paper screen after his 'enemy'  
pulled her last vanishing trick, flinging that final glare at the  
camera, and the words contained in the billowing smoke, all said:

I too, am a fire demon. Come find me if you dare.

Hiei didn't particularly care to mention that to Urameshi while  
they were still on-set.

"So you wrote a crappy song that will tank and you wore her out."  
Urameshi snorted. "Makes perfect sense."

Hiei caught his director's glance. Yukawa was thinking about  
what Hiei had said about keeping the shot; that much was obvious.  
"I did have something else in mind."

Urameshi raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

In truth, Hiei was relieved that the shoot was finished; never  
had they spent so many hours rehearsing intricate mock-combat  
moves at such dangerous speed. The choreography proved  
excruciatingly difficult, for it had to both fit the music, and  
convey his embedded 'message:' Ignore me at your peril!

They had hit upon the right combination at last: back-leading him  
through the moves, as she had when she showed him his first  
tango, combined with the generous use of theatrical smoke-bombs  
and cuts on movement so it seemed as if she 'disappeared' by  
magic. Even Hiei, with all his speed, had been impressed with  
Shay-san's acrobatic quickness, and was beginning to see that she  
was as much of a professional in her way as he was in his. But  
on this last day of shooting she stayed home, no doubt lying down  
with a cold rag on her head.

He told Urameshi as much.

"Dangerous?" inquired the boy, with a great deal of relish.

"She clocked me at one point." Hiei rubbed his jaw in fond  
memory; that girl really did have a kick like a mule. "Strictly  
by accident, of course."

"Of course."

The speed, precision and footwork that made Hiei an expert  
swordsman made him an equal threat as a performer. What the  
music told him to do, he did with frightening ease. "This is the  
most fun I've ever had without cutting people up," he elaborated.

"I'll alert the media." Urameshi rolled his eyes.

"Don't say 'media' around me for a while," warned Hiei.

"I never even mentioned the Tokyo Tattler." Urameshi laced his  
hands together. "So this 'something' you had in mind: business  
or personal?"

Hiei rose, stretching until his ligaments crackled. "Personal.  
I think."

"You think?" Urameshi was clearly puzzled.

"Listen, we got a couple of packages from America, and Shay-san's  
waiting for everyone to come over before she opens them. You  
with me?"

"Sure." Urameshi tilted his head at the scurrying crew. "If you  
think this bunch can do without you."

In answer, Hiei strolled away from the set, leaving Urameshi to  
follow.

Outside, Hiei blinked. He felt as though he had not seen the sun  
in ages, and this was unusual weather for a September afternoon:  
the city street dry, hot, and utterly still. Spotting the stone  
wall bordering the library lawn, he hopped up for a better view.

As if you expect another fire demon to appear before the video  
even hits the airwaves, he thought ruefully.

"Oi, Hiei." Urameshi cocked a curious glance up at him. "Did  
you suddenly get taller?"

"What are you, channeling Kuwabara?" Hiei snorted. "I'm  
walking on top of a wall."

"No, I meant---ah, skip it."

Hiei leapt down in front of Urameshi. "Remember what Botan said  
about a hole in the barrier between Makai and Ningenkai?" Hiei  
asked.

"Yeah. That it's closed now."

"But some demons were undoubtedly trapped on this side."

"You mean like the one that nearly got you in the park?"

Ignoring the jab, Hiei outlined, in the briefest possible terms,  
what he hoped to accomplish with 'Chasing the Dragon.'

Urameshi squinted at him. "Isn't that kind of suicidal?"

With a shrug forming his response, Hiei resumed walking---on the  
ground this time.

Urameshi kept pace. "Does Shay-san know what you're doing?"

Hiei nodded.

"That woman is as nuts as you."

With a deep breath, Hiei glanced up at Urameshi. If he spoke  
this thing to another, it would become more real, in a way he  
could not yet define.

Somewhere, a cicada keened on the hot dry air.

"I'm looking for my father," Hiei said. "I think he's the one  
who blew the barrier in May."

0-0-0-0-0

There were two boxes from America: a large care package from  
Uncle Paul and Aunt Carmel Kidd, and a smaller one from the three  
cousins, Mary, Francie and Kathleen.

Kurama had arrived even before Hiei returned with Urameshi in  
tow, wanting a look at Shay-san without the fire demon breathing  
down his neck.

Both Hiei and Shay-san had confided in him recently---Hiei about  
the attack in the cemetery, which bothered Kurama. Not because  
Hiei had gotten into a fight (no surprise there), but because if  
Hiei had killed the first demon, why should the other two wait  
for him to come to, as casually as waiting for a bus?

And Shay-san, now five months along, had come to him pleading for  
something to alleviate her backaches and mood swings, muttering,  
"I hardly even know who I am any more."

Today she looked pretty much like herself as she sat on the  
floor, unpacking. Gathered around her, other members of Romantic  
Soldier expressed varying degrees of interest in the bounty.

Kurama sat on the couch with Hiei. Yuusuke and Kuwabara scorned  
the comforts of furniture, joining the girl on the floor. Shizuru  
was in the kitchen, preparing tea.

The larger box contained both baby items and trinkets, which held  
little interest for Yuusuke and Kuwabara, but which delighted  
Shay-san, judging from the volume of her squeals.

The smaller box, however, contained video tapes. "Hey," crowed  
Yuusuke, snatching up a tape. "Maybe it's a dirty movie."

"Maybe it's a Megallica video," countered Kuwabara.

"Whatever." Yuusuke clicked the tape into the VCR.

Kurama exchanged amused glances with Hiei. Hiei gave that soft  
snort of a laugh.

Curious. Where was Hiei now on that swing, that great arc  
between the old Hiei and the man he would eventually become?  
Difficult to judge today; Hiei seemed tired and preoccupied.

And Shay-san was steeped in unpacking, exclaiming over each new  
baby item and trinket with evident delight. From the kitchen  
wafted the first faint scent of brewing tea.

"I should let Shizu-san take her pick," murmured Shay-san,  
thoughtfully tapping a large, multifaceted rhinestone brooch  
against her chin. "And save some for Keiko and her mom."

"Yeah." Yuusuke grimaced at the remote control, which did not  
seem to be working. "Keiko wanted to come but the noodle shop's  
busy today."

"Unlike you," muttered Kuwabara, relieving Yuusuke of the remote  
and pressing 'Play.'

"Thanks for saving Keiko your aunt's old used crap, though,"  
Yuusuke added, as the film rolled.

"These are good pieces," Shay-san continued blithely. "Aunt  
Carmel likes to change them out a lot."

"You might as well keep some for yourself," Hiei informed her.  
"Seeing as there's no money floating around to buy trinkets to  
decorate you with."

"Where's the fun in hogging everything to yourself?" she shot  
back.

Kurama glanced at the screen. The video proved to be neither a  
dirty movie nor a Megallica number, but some sort of American  
film, not subtitled, cheaply done in black and white. It  
featured a hairy monster that lumbered around, threatening the  
teenagers who appeared to be the sole residents of a small town.

"Nuts," chorused Yuusuke and Kuwabara. Yet they watched  
nonetheless, razzing at every opportunity.

Hiei looked on in silence, casting an occasional glance at Shay-  
san whenever she gave a particularly fervent squeal.

Kurama tried to discern some form of plot, other than the  
threatened-teenager angle, but the movie had come on somewhere in  
the middle. There was already singing and dancing.

"Hey!" Kuwabara shouted, pointing to the screen. "Neesan,  
that's YOU!"

"You made a MOVIE?" Yuusuke whipped his head around to gape at  
her.

Kurama shifted his attention back to the movie. A musical number  
seemed terribly inappropriate to a low-budget horror film, but  
this one possessed a certain cachet provided by the vocalist,  
whose singing voice Kurama now knew well.

How intriguing, he thought.

The number, 'Ready, Set: Boo,' depicted Hollywood's idea of  
teenagers at a dance. Two of them, boy and girl dressed in full-  
on clown outfits, performed in a medium-fast tempo, the girl  
churning out some very splashy high kicks.

The girl was Jaganshi Shayla Kidd.

Kurama elbowed Hiei, who leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at  
the screen. "What's this?" Hiei asked.

"Oh." Shay-san did not bother eyeing the screen, still shaking  
out and then re-folding baby clothes. "Right. That."

"You made a MOVIE?" Yuusuke repeated.

She snorted, inspecting a daffodil-yellow baby bib. "No, I  
didn't 'make a movie---'just got a small part in one."

Kuwabara and Yuusuke exchanged awed looks. "How---"

"My uncle knows the producer, who let me write and stage the  
musical number. It wasn't a big deal---I needed to prepare fast,  
so I just based it on 'The Yama Yama Man.'" She looked up at  
Hiei. "You know. That Ginger Rogers number? From 'The Story of  
Vernon and Irene Castle?'"

"Where she dresses in a clown suit." Hiei nodded. "It's a good  
tribute. You sort of played with the melody a little and you  
mounted your choreography on a pair instead of a solo."

Her smile was genuine, and radiant. "Thanks. Means a lot,  
coming from you."

Flushing slightly, Hiei muttered something under his breath.

Kurama hid his own smile, reminding himself Hiei was still just a  
kid. Youko could barely remember being 19, while Minamino  
Shuuichi would not reach that age for some four more years.

'The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle' stars Fred Astaire and  
Ginger Rogers. Unlike the other musical comedies made by the  
famed duo, this 1939 film is a biographical piece, set during the  
time of World War I. Their duets depict not their usual dazzling  
productions but the style of the historically influential  
Castles. It is the only Astaire-Rogers film in which Fred,  
playing Vernon Castle, dies.

An icy rill ran down Kurama's spine; more than one reviewer had  
likened Hiei and Shay-san to Astaire and Rogers (including  
himself, under his pen name---in fact he'd started the whole  
thing). "He died in a plane crash," whispered Kurama, but no one  
reacted; the boys had gone back to their whooping and high-  
fiving, and Shay-san too busy unpacking.

Kurama tried to shake it off. It was the Kuwabara clan who were  
known for their premonitions, not him.

"How many other movies did you make?" Yuusuke demanded, his tone  
suggesting that the girl had deliberately conspired to keep it a  
secret.

Neatening a pile of baby clothes, the girl in question shrugged.  
"Just the one with Clint Eastwood."

"Dirty Harry?" Yuusuke and Kuwabara's eyes were like golf balls.  
"You made a movie with DIRTY HARRY??"

"It was only a walk-on."

"And after that?"

"There was no 'after that' whatsoever."

"Why not?

Shay-san's cheeks turned pink. "The other extras discovered that  
my uncle drew up some contacts for Mr. Eastwood. They tagged it  
as nepotism, and they were right." She stared at the little  
green baby bib she was holding, pulled it to her chest like a  
shield. "But they made things unpleasant for me."

Hiei gave a grunt that suggested such extras should thank their  
lucky stars he lived an ocean's distance away.

"Let's see that walk-on!" Yuusuke thumbed the remote.

"I'm sure it's there," she murmured, still not bothering to  
glance at the screen. "Apparently my cousins find it cute to  
send me highlight tapes of things best forgotten."

"Got it!" crowed Yuusuke.

The scene is set on a beach. In the background, young people  
(all fit and tanned) play a game of volleyball with far too many  
people per side. The girls wear skimpy suits and the boys look  
like lifeguards in their Speedos.

Mr. Eastwood stands in the foreground, speaking into a mobile  
phone, in a desperate attempt to catch up with the killer.

Yuusuke scowled at the screen. "Which one is she?"

"In red--over to the left," said Kuwabara. "No. Wait."

There was a boil of movement and many attractive young girls.  
Impossible to tell which of them was Shay-san.

Hiei snorted. "The one in the yellow swimsuit."

Yuusuke swiveled around to stare at Hiei. "No way. That girl  
has long black hair."

Shay-san looked up at last, but at Hiei, not the screen. "How  
did you---?"

Hiei gave her a fond smirk. "I will always be able to tell, no  
matter what cheesy disguise you wear."

"That's me, in yellow," she admitted. "I don't tan, so they  
clapped a wig on me and spray-painted me with dark makeup."

"How old were you when you worked on that film?" Kurama wanted to  
know.

"Eighteen."

"How old for the monster movie?" chimed Yuusuke.

"Seventeen."

"A musical prodigy," muttered Hiei, lips twitching in mirth.

"Let's move on to more interesting things," she snapped.

Shizuru poked her head out from the kitchen. "This Clint  
Eastwood," she began, intent on the screen.

Shay-san peered up at the sleepy-eyed honey blonde. "What about  
him?"

"Is he by any chance single?"

"Afraid not."

"Damn." Shizuru raised a wicked eyebrow. "Well, are there any  
more at home like him?"

"You're incorrigible, Shizu-san." Shay-san wriggled to her feet.  
"Let me help you with that tea." But before she reached the  
kitchen, the phone rang.

"For you." Shizuru held it out.

Shay-san took the phone. "It's my uncle," she said, giving them  
a puzzled, almost frightened look. "What the---?"

0-0-0-0-0

That same day, across town, dining at an outdoor cafe much closer  
to the docks than the Kuwabara residence, was a man being paid to  
hunt down a youth he had never met.

'Boss, one last question,' Carlos had said, before leaving  
Warehouse Four: 'The target's becoming famous. When you kill a  
famous person there's usually quite an investigation. How---'

'Ain't gonna be around long enough for shit to hit the fan.'

And that was when Carlos realized the Boss planned to return to  
the demon plane.

Surprisingly, the Boss had only been irritated, no worse, to  
learn that Brown Oni had not cut and run like Green and Yellow,  
but cut to pieces before he could fetch the target back.

'Wasn't gonna kill the little bastard yet,' he'd said. 'Just  
wanted to play with him some.'

Carlos was reminded of a cat, toying endlessly with a mouse. And  
the longer he hung around until the Boss finally got sick of  
playing, the greater his chances of being caught.

Reveleding in the fresh, sea-salted air and the parade of  
passersby, Carlos ate a double dragon roll. He did not want to  
think about possible captivity again.

But Japan was a civilized nation. The authorities who might  
still be searching for him would receive excellent cooperation  
here. So if the Boss's schemes called down too much heat, Carlos  
might have no way of 'mysteriously vanishing' from custody this  
time.

He could get away with that once. Twice---

Spearing the last piece of dragon roll and popping it into his  
mouth, he enjoyed the explosion of wasabi searing all the way to  
his eardrums. He washed it away with beer.

On the one hand, there was the money. It was good. Good enough  
to accept risks. There had been risks before, running drugs. If  
you weren't a fool, you dodged and lived to see another day.

Carlos, being fond of his own skin, and far from a fool, realized  
that soon, the tolerable-risk factor would intersect the big-  
paycheck factor at a level of danger too high for any amount of  
money to offset.

The thought of sweating out the rest of his life in jail held no  
appeal at all. But if he bailed, the Boss would send redshirts  
after him. Carlos was only human; he had no hope of standing up  
to even the smallest, most timid oni.

The names and faces of those who employed Carlos were dismissed  
the minute each gig ended; his jobs were only a means to an end,  
and that end had changed since he began working. He had a  
reputation for being reliable, quick and efficient, and had no  
wish to learn of an employer's emotional entanglements.

But he had to wonder what that crimson-eyed kid had done to the  
Boss to earn a death sentence. And whatever it was, didn't it  
make sense to simply get it over with?

If Carlos cooperated to the letter of the demon's demands,  
drawing out the date of execution, he was leaving himself open to  
exposure and capture by the authorities.

Kill the target now, he kept suggesting, but the Boss grew less  
patient each time Carlos mentioned the subject.

He glanced up as his waitress made her way to his table,  
professional concern etched onto her pretty young face.  
"Anything wrong, sir?"

He cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, there is."

"Oh?" The girl puckered her brow.

"I seem to have run out of dragon roll."

She beamed at him. "I'll bring another, shall I?"

"And another beer, if you don't mind."

"Right away."

A breeze stirred the air, fluttering his paper napkin. He  
snagged it with a broad thumb and slid it under his plate.

And after a moment's thought he shifted the plate away. The  
napkin lifted on the wind, sailing away like a sea bird, more  
free than Carlos if he was jailed.

That would never do.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei had been wrong about 'Chasing The Dragon.' The song did not  
tank, but hit the charts at number eighteen and stayed there a  
couple of weeks while the video got heavy rotation on the  
Roppongi Video Happy Hour.

"Insufferable bastard," said Urameshi, each time they met.

-30-

(To be continued: Water salad, shampoo endorsements and the  
great scent of Hiei!) 


	12. FS C11: Super Happy Fun Time etc

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C11: Super Happy Fun Time etc..  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T

Summary: The boys are so busy now that there's no room for  
extras, but a startling revelation knocks Hiei back on his heels.

A/N: Water salad is a kind of Japanese soft drink.

Long time no update; long chap. Thanks to everyone who's been reading this, and thanks to Katia-chan and Accidental.Enlightenment for previous help. This chapter title's for Swim-san. Reviews much appreciated!

Firebird Sweet C11: Super Happy Fun Time Naked Japanese  
Shakespeare!  
by  
Kenshin

In a towering pine near Genkai's temple, Hiei sagged back, hoarse  
from shouting, soaked in failure.

From where he sat, he could see the tiled roof of the main  
building. The remarkable clarity of the air showed surrounding  
hills blazing with leaves in gold and crimson, but neither the  
glories of the late September foliage nor the sounds of birdsong  
could lighten his mood.

Why? Why can't I make the Dragon obey? How can that crazy  
priest be so sure I can retrain it? Maybe it's dead as a  
doornail, canceled out by my use of Holy Fire.

I'm still a demon. My ki's the same as ever. But if I can't use  
the flames of Makai to summon the Dragon, how can it be lured by  
Holy Fire, which is inimical to demons?

The wind caressed his dripping face, but brought no answers.  
Hiei shut his eyes.

Immediately, he sensed a touch of youki, and reached for his  
sword an instant before he knew this was no enemy, but a friend.

From straight below came Yukina's voice. "Niisan? You're up a  
tree again, aren't you?"

Dammit, he thought, she heard me bellowing.

In answer, Hiei leapt from his perch to face the neat little  
figure. Her piquant face was a welcome sight, and clearly she  
was pleased to see him too. With her aquamarine hair and pale  
kimono, Yukina looked far younger than he, though in truth he was  
her senior by a mere half-hour.

There was more ease between them now, their encounters less  
strained and formal, yet still lacking the familiarity of  
longtime siblings.

"Never mind me," he told her. "How are you getting on?"

"You sound hoarse," she said delicately.

"Ch. Must be allergies."

"Dear me. I had no idea you were so fragile."

It took him a second or two to realize she was joking, and  
snorted a laugh in return. "Has the idiot been bugging you?"

"Don't be silly." She was walking away from the tree now, birds  
following all around; he fell into step. "I like Kazuma."

"I know he's been hanging out here, and it's not to sample  
Genkai's green tea."

"It's sweet of you to be so protective."

"Not protective. Just practical."

A bird settled on Yukina's shoulder. She paused, her round  
crimson eyes touched with concern. "I hope that whatever caused  
your, a-hem, allergies, Shay-san is all right."

"She's doing well enough."

"And I know you had been ... thinking about money." How like  
Yukina not to point out he'd been flat-out worried.

"We're fine there, too."

They reached a small clearing with a bench of gray stone. Yukina  
sat, inviting him to join her. As Hiei folded himself next to  
her, he explained, "We're going to America. Her uncle got the  
band some gig at a country club."

"You must be excited."

"She is. It was a big surprise."

"When do you leave?"

"Not for some time---they haven't even broken ground for the  
clubhouse. Some dilapidated place got taken over, and Paul has  
connections there." While he filled Yukina in on the details, a  
chipmunk stole out from a nearby pile of flat stones, darted them  
a beady black glance, then dove back into the safety of its lair.

Yukina giggled.

At last, Hiei found something that was not exactly a lie, but  
would also ease Yukina's concerns. "I come here once in a while  
to train. Tokyo authorities tend to frown on guys screaming,  
swinging swords or immolating trees in broad daylight--even if  
it's just practice."

"Spoilsports," she agreed, but her mouth twitched in amusement.  
"Whatever are they thinking?"

"Really takes the fun out of it." He shrugged. "Care to come  
along and make sure the Kidd estate is safe from me?"

"I'm sure they'd be devastated if a certain someone should cut  
loose on their garden---purely by accident. But I can't go all  
the way to America for the sake of a tree."

"I'll alert the Sierra Club." And Hiei allowed himself the  
pleasure of a genuine laugh.

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss was watching that same tape loop, over and over again,  
Carlos at his shoulder.

The olive-green oni, a single horn decorating its forehead and a  
ruff of yellow hair like a tonsured monk's, came up to stand next  
to Carlos.

Carlos tore his gaze from the screen only long enough to meet  
Olive's eye and shake his head.

Shrugging, Olive went back to his card game.

It was definitely a bad idea to interrupt the Boss when he was in  
one of these moods.

Carlos had been in the employ of powerful, dangerous men before.  
This one topped them all for sheer, bug-bait crazy.

So Carlos watched in silence.

After spending countless hours with the surveillance tapes,  
Carlos had seen the target many times, walking unawares.

Usually the target wore a distinctive black coat and white scarf.  
At other times, he dressed in jeans, like any of the other boys.  
But always, he wore that white headband.

Alone, or with the fire-haired girl, or the other two  
boys---Carlos was not about to scramble to recall their  
names---the target appeared quite self-contained.

Carlos had noted the target's physical resemblance to the Boss.  
On the small side, but with no signs of the Boss' dissipation.  
Perhaps that would show up later, in a coarsening of the clear-  
cut features, or a ballooning gut.

Of course, there would be no later for him.

Was the Boss after the boy because of this resemblance? Because  
he viewed it as mockery? Or---as seemed more likely---was this  
some clan member who had somehow crossed the demon king?

Today, the tape showed the target and his sister strolling  
through the woods. They sat at a bench, exchanging inanities; as  
usual, the sound quality was nonexistent.

The girl, though. She was a pretty little thing of cheerful  
demeanor and ice-colored hair. It looked as though she was quite  
fond of the target, and in his own self-possessed way, he was  
equally fond of her.

Carlos felt his hand cramping. Looking down, he was surprised to  
see that it had clenched into a fist, all on its own; when he  
opened it, there were the marks of his nails, like red crescent  
moons dug into his palm.

0-0-0-0-0

'Firebird Lament,' thanks to the daring video, became one of  
Romantic Soldier's biggest hits, second only to Kurama's  
signature number.

But Shay-san could no longer perform back-flips, nor even the  
less strenuous footwork of 'Chasing The Dragon'; she was 6 months  
along, swollen, uncomfortable and snappish.

There could be no question now of sneaking off to a love hotel  
and giving The Tattler another field day; she could barely  
tolerate his touch. Hiei sincerely hoped this was just a phase.

Two days following Hiei's unsuccessful attempt to revive the  
Dragon, he sat in the Kuwabara living room. Shay-san, Kurama,  
Urameshi, Shizuru and the moron were focused on the coffee table,  
which was littered with envelopes, faxes and hand-scribbled  
notes, all anchored with soft drinks, snack bags, and an  
interested Eikichi.

The Dragon might be gone, but so were the nightmares of falling,  
and the random attacks. Offers were coming in thick and fast.  
Urameshi got a running shoe deal, Kurama a shampoo and  
conditioner gig, and there were more outlandish products; so many  
that Hiei's head spun. They had to beg for assistance from Keiko  
and Shizuru, and hire extra staff.

Yet Hiei accepted nearly every offer, endorsements included.

Shay-san was, thankfully, sitting next to him on the couch, not  
snarling, but opening envelope after envelope in a relative state  
of calm while the Kuwabara cat batted at discarded paper. "How  
about this one," she asked. "Some perfume company wants to  
market a scent called 'Hiei.'"

"Absolutely not," Hiei said. "Besides, what would it smell like?  
Blood and fire?"

Shizuru laughed, high-fiving her brother.

Kurama, sitting across from them, shot a hand in the air. "I'll  
do it," he volunteered. "Mine would smell like---"

"The stench of arrogance, condescension and vanity," interrupted  
Hiei.

"I love you, too," simpered Kurama, while Urameshi and Kuwabara  
shared a few happy moments jeering, and Shizuru released a long  
plume of smoke directly into the idiot's face.

"Don't make me get up off this couch!" Shay-san pushed an  
envelope at Hiei. "Here's a real offer, for real money."

"As opposed to the fake stuff we've been making." Kuwabara rolled  
his eyes.

Hiei lifted the heavy manila envelope, which looked like it  
contained the entire Tokyo phone directory. "What is this?"

"Shakespeare," she said, sipping juice.

It was Hiei's turn to roll his eyes. "You're kidding me."

"Open it and take a look." Then she handed Kuwabara an offer  
from the Go-Boost Coffee Company.

"Don't take it," Hiei advised. "Look at me."

Kuwabara faked a shudder. "Do I have to?"

"Coffee addict since age five. Stunted my growth."

"You're lyin' through your teeth, Runt."

Hiei laughed. "True. But a man can dream, can't he?"

"I'm taking the water salad," muttered Kuwabara.

Shay-san lured Eikichi off the table so they could go over the  
details of Kuwabara's endorsement of Super Happy Fun Time Water  
Salad. Hiei scanned the script, then flung it on the coffee  
table where the cat had been. "Very funny."

Shay-san shook her head. "It's legit. The whole thing's already  
in production. Yukawa Kenji is directing, and they have Ibuki  
signed as Titania."

Ibuki had given Shay-san and Hiei their first break appearing in  
one of her videos. Only 17 and of ethereal beauty, the pop idol  
is known for her cheerful, upbeat love songs, delivered in a  
voice that makes her sound like a fourth-grader wise beyond her  
years.

"Whoa!" Both Urameshi and Kuwabara looked up, impressed.  
"Ibuki?" Urameshi echoed. "Hey, we never got a chance to meet  
her. You gotta take this gig, Hiei!"

"Yeah," Kuwabara interjected, "and get us parts in it! Whatever  
it is."

"No way." Hiei snorted.

"Why not?" Kurama wanted to know.

"Naked Shakespeare?" Hiei lifted a supremely scornful eyebrow.  
"In Japanese?"

Kurama saw his eyebrow and raised him another. "Since when has  
modesty ever been your forte?"

"Are you deaf as well as vain? I said I'm not doing it!"

"But this is our big chance to meet Ibuki!" Kuwabara protested.

Urameshi clenched a fist. "Yeah, how can you be so selfish as to  
deny us that?"

"Selfish?" Hiei snarled. "You want to talk selfish? I live  
around here, okay? Lermontov will see this! Never mind  
Lermontov, Kaasan will see this! And never mind Kaasan, Father  
Brian and the whole congregation will see this!"

"That's assuming anyone will show up to see a movie with you in  
it," said Kurama.

Hiei countered, "My kids'll grow up and go to school. Imagine  
what fun it will be for them: 'Look! Your dad's prancing around  
naked!' Like it's not difficult enough just growing up."

"Especially with you as a father," said Kurama.

Without looking, Shay-san tossed a crumpled envelope at Kurama.  
It hit his nose, then bounced onto the floor.

"I still say you're mean and selfish," muttered Urameshi.

"Depriving us of the chance to be in a movie," added Kuwabara,  
rising to his feet.

"Naked," Shizuru got in. "I'm sure the producers don't want their  
cameras cracking."

Kuwabara subsided.

"That's just what this idiot woman needs." Hiei jerked his head  
in Shay-san's direction. "Can you imagine the congregation of  
Immaculate Heart?" Hiei imitated a woman's high-pitched voice:  
"'Oh, she's the one whose husband has his bare ass plastered all  
over the movie screen. Let's ask her to tea!'"

Kurama was laughing helplessly, eyes slitted, close to tears.  
"You did that voice a little too well, my friend."

"Besides," Hiei swatted the script, "it's not even A Midsummer  
Night's Dream. Just the title's the same."

Kurama dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. "You've read A  
Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"Of course," snapped Hiei. "Hasn't everyone?"

"You can read?" echoed Kuwabara.

"Don't turn it down." Reaching forward, Shay-san pushed the  
script back toward him.

Hiei could feel his left eye twitching. "Why not?"

Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, she shot back at him, "Whose  
uncle is the entertainment lawyer here? Leave room for  
negotiation."

"What sort of negotiation?"

"Just... negotiation."

Shizuru had lifted part of the script, and was now thumbing  
through it. "What part do they want you to play, Hiei?"

Hiei did not respond. Crumpling the cover letter, he stuffed it  
in his pocket.

"Well, Shorty?" demanded Kuwabara, echoing his sister.

"As if you'd know the characters in A Midsummer Night's Dream,"  
said Hiei.

"What part?" Urameshi pressed.

"Yes, Hiei," purred Kurama. "Do tell us."

Hiei cast a pleading look at his firebird. She remained  
immobile; the only part of her that moved were her eyes as she  
silently read another fax.

Lifting his lip in a snarl, Hiei turned to the others and spat,  
"Oberon. The Fairy King."

Urameshi clapped a hand over his mouth to stem his laughter.  
"Oh, you HAVE to take the part."

"And not just so we can meet Ibuki!" crowed Kuwabara.

Shizuru coughed until she went red in the face, then leapt up and  
fled to the kitchen.

As for Kurama, he almost fell out of the chair.

"Some day," Hiei said, with great dignity, "I will make you pay  
for this, fox-boy."

0-0-0-0-0

A week later, they had another group meeting in the living room,  
crowded around the same coffee table, with the addition of Keiko  
this time, and the temporary absence of Shay-san, who had hauled  
herself upstairs for a lie-down.

Hiei held up a hand for silence. "I'm taking the film."

"Congrats," drawled Shizuru. "Can't wait to see your butt."

Keiko lifted Eikichi onto her lap, her face flushing.

Kurama turned to Hiei, surprise etched onto his features. "You  
said before you weren't taking it."

"Yeah, you big glory hound," said Urameshi.

Hiei darted a glance up the stairs. "Okay, quick now. I still  
owe her uncle money---"

Urameshi dangled a shoelace for Eikichi to play with. "Didn't he  
say to forget about that?"

Hiei cranked his head around to glare at Urameshi. "Will you  
shut up and let me finish before she comes back?"

"Woman's got your nuts in a Dixie cup," muttered Urameshi.

"What was that?" demanded a fuming Keiko.

"At least I have some to put in there," Hiei countered.

"I have nothing to add to this conversation," said Kuwabara,  
feigning dignity.

"Bills to pay," Hiei continued. "We pay rent here, too." He  
reached into his pocket, took out a folded piece of paper and  
smoothed it. "Plus---I'm building her a house."

Shizuru abandoned her cigarette, looking intrigued. Keiko  
actually gasped, much to Urameshi's obvious irritation.

"Shay-san made this drawing of the kind of house she likes. I  
sort of copied it." He passed it around, one ear cocked for the  
sound of her footsteps on the stairs.

"Hiei." Kurama refolded the paper and handed it back to him,  
speaking as if to a very small and monumentally thick-headed  
child. "You cannot possibly build this yourself."

Hiei gave a withering stare. "I'll hire an architect."

"This is... astounding," Keiko finished, just as Eikichi snatched  
the shoelace from Urameshi and trotted off in triumph.

"Just so you know," muttered Hiei. "And not a word to Shay-san  
about this. Otherwise I'll have to---"

"Yeah, yeah." Urameshi waved a hand. "Rip our heads off and  
feed them to our necks."

Hiei heard steps in the upstairs hallway. "She's coming. Talk  
about something else."

0-0-0-0-0

It was late when the meeting ended. On their way out, Keiko  
pressed a folded piece of paper into Hiei's palm and winked. He  
slid it into his pocket.

Later, when Hiei had a moment alone, he read it:

'Meet me in park after school. Stay in tree and await my arrival.  
And DON'T tell Shay-san. -- K'

Don't tell Shay-san? This presented several possibilities, none  
of which Hiei liked, ranging from conflict between Keiko and his  
firebird, to Keiko having a schoolgirl crush on him, to something  
ponderous and unpleasant involving Urameshi.

Hiei burnt the paper and resolved to get the meeting over with as  
quickly as possible.

The next day found him in the park after school, ensconced in the  
branch of a maple tree whose leaves were a glory of scarlet and  
gold.

He spotted Keiko walking toward the treeline, a couple of female  
classmates trailing her at a distance. Waiting until she had  
almost passed the tree, Hiei coughed discreetly.

Keiko paused, then moved on.

"Over here," Hiei said. "Look up."

"Oh!" Keiko peered at him. "There you are."

He landed lightly beside her. "What's going on? Trouble at  
school? Something wrong with Yuusuke?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stop guessing and let me speak."

He waited.

"Let's move off a bit first," Keiko suggested. "Naoko-san and  
Chiharu-san are already beginning to stalk me because I know you  
and Kurama on a personal basis."

"Why?" He strolled alongside her. "Are they not also aware you  
know Kuwabara? And Yuusuke, on a much more personal basis?"

"And those girls know them as well. They see them in school, so  
there's no mystery. You and Kurama, though---"

Stopping, she sank to her knees, and he echoed her posture.

Keiko shot him a sidelong glance. "Hiei-san... you weren't  
planning to build the house and then tell Shay-san, were you?"

"Absolutely not." Oh, crap!

Keiko raised an eyebrow. There was a long silence.

Utterly defeated, Hiei sighed. "What should I do?"

"Please don't misunderstand---I think this is the sweetest, most  
romantic thing I have ever heard in my---"

"Nothing sweet about it. I keep telling you, Keiko-chan, I am a  
very unpleasant sort and all I want is a place where I can beat  
my wife and kids in private."

She snorted. "Like fun you do."

"Keh."

"If Yuusuke was more like you---"

"Then everyone would hate him as much as they hate me."

"Look, Shay-san is going to want to be involved in every detail  
from the ground up. Hiei, it's a girl thing. You know how fussy  
she is just about her lipstick."

Hiei shuddered, then thought about it. Shizuru had also been  
present at the meeting. But it was Keiko who made it her  
business to pull him out of the glue. He was touched in a way he  
couldn't even explain.

Putting his face in his hands, Hiei murmured, "I know it's too  
much to ask. But could you...?" He looked at her, perhaps  
playing it up a little, but---

"Help out? You couldn't stop me. Only..." She plucked at a bit  
of grass, frowning.

"Excuse me," Hiei interrupted, flinging a glare at Keiko's  
classmates huddling in the nearby bushes. "Your entourage---what  
on earth do they want?"

"Your autograph."

"Crazy schoolgirls." Hiei studied the eminently sane schoolgirl  
before him. "She almost cried when I gave her a stupid Hello  
Kitty toy. I'm scared to see her response to a house."

"I imagine she'll survive. Only..." Keiko's brown eyes were  
glinting. "I'll miss my grown-up American friend."

Hiei snorted. "Don't worry. I plan to let her off the leash  
every once in a while. Besides, we haven't even broken ground  
yet. She could hate the whole idea."

"Riiight. I know I'd hate it if Yuusuke gave me my very own  
house." She stopped, put a hand to her cheek, reddened. "I  
meant, that's if---well, I---we're not even---"

"I know what you meant." He put out a hand to her, then  
redirected it to swat at a buzzing fly.

If they were in America, he might have pecked her cheek or  
ruffled her hair in gratitude; he viewed her as a child, albeit a  
highly intelligent one, and Americans were great snoggers. But  
this was not America. In Japan, such gestures were bound to be  
misinterpreted. "Thanks."

"Just don't forget about us." She smoothed out her skirt, then  
met his gaze, unflinching. "I'll miss you too, Hiei."

He caught a breath. "Keiko---"

"They're back," she said. "Naoko and Chiharu."

"I know. That pair are about as stealthy as oni in a tea-room.  
Anyway, it's not like we would be moving to China. It's just a  
house. And building it is a long way off---maybe years." He got  
to his feet. "What shall I do with those two?"

Keiko gave him a fierce grin that reminded him of Urameshi.  
"Anything you want."

"Sounds like fun!" With that, Hiei turned and charged into the  
undergrowth, nearly bowling over the startled schoolgirls.

0-0-0-0-0

"So this is what you were up to yesterday!" Hiei's firebird flung  
him a copy of The Tokyo Tattler so the headline screamed out at  
him:

Romantic Soldier Caught In Secret Tryst! Betrayed Spouse Silent!

"Those two little---" Hiei broke off.

"Two little who?" Shay-san arched a sardonic eyebrow.

Quickly Hiei told her of Naoko and Chiharu, leaving out the part  
about the house.

"Well," she huffed. "If they think this Betrayed Spouse will  
remain silent---"

"Stop enjoying yourself so much."

She gave him one of those slanting looks. "The great scent of  
Hiei: arrogance, condescension, and vanity."

0-0-0-0-0

A furious Keiko made the next news cycle: "That house was  
supposed to be a surprise, but you people ruined it!"

"Maybe I should pursue a more honorable line of work," muttered  
Hiei.

"You could always go back to stealing," said Shay-san.

0-0-0-0-0

By the time the next group meeting came up, Hiei had already  
screen-tested for the part of Oberon. Before everyone else  
arrived, he stood in the kitchen with his firebird, reporting on  
Naked Japanese Shakespeare while she prepared dinner.

"A funny thing happened on set," Hiei said, peering over her  
shoulder at the deep pan in which she was frying delectable-  
smelling marinated chicken. "I was standing next to Ibuki during  
the screen test when she walked offstage, and never came back."

"Hiei!" Shay-san rounded on him with all the fury of a Tasmanian  
devil. "What did you DO to that child?"

"Nothing at all." He added, "Watch the chicken."

She gave the chicken a half-hearted poke with the tongs. "Did  
you threaten her?"

"Of course not."

"Touch her?"

"Nothing like that. Just delivered my line, in character."

"Did you look at her?"

"Of course I looked." Prying the tongs from her hand, Hiei  
turned the chicken, then slapped the tongs back in her hand  
before she could even react. "Ibuki was facing me delivering her  
lines, how can I not look?"

"You know what I meant!"

"Well." Hiei shrugged. "Maybe I looked at her a little."

The front door opened. Moments later Kurama entered the kitchen,  
sniffing. "Smells good. What's for dinner tonight?"

Hiei snorted. "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Surely." Taking out an instant camera, Kurama snapped off a  
couple of shots.

"Just what I needed." Shay-san gave a weary sigh. "I'm hardly  
at my best right now."

"You look fine," Kurama assured her, placing the snapshots on a  
counter to develop.

Shay-san turned to Hiei. "You really need to apologize to that  
poor child."

"I'm hardly a poor child," protested Kurama, laying out  
chopsticks and paper napkins.

"She wasn't referring to you," sneered Hiei.

"But it's always a good idea to make Hiei apologize to me,"  
Kurama continued blandly, snagging some bowls from the cupboard.

"Hiei meant Ibuki," Shay-san elaborated.

"Ibuki? What's Hiei done to Ibuki?"

"NOTHING!" Hiei roared. "And I already said I was sorry, but I  
see none of you wants to hear my interesting bit of news."

"Poor Hiei." Kurama pulled up a chair. "I'll listen to your  
interesting bit of news."

"They're looking for a new Titania." Hiei gently herded Shay-san  
away from the stove and tonged the chicken onto a paper-lined  
plate to drain.

"Are they really?" Kurama helped Hiei finish herding Shay-san,  
pulling out a chair for her. "I wonder who they'll get."

Straddling a chair opposite Kurama, Hiei said, "Ibuki wasn't  
right for the part, not with that squeaky little voice of hers."  
He cast a liquid glance at Shay-san. "You, on the other hand,  
can speak with the snarl befitting an overbearing fairy queen."

Kurama stifled a giggle.

Shay san matched Hiei's liquid glance. "You are one hundred  
percent, pure, grade-A evil, you know that?"

"Who---me?" Hiei had the wide-eyed Kurama look down pat.

She reached for the teapot; Kurama snatched it up and poured for  
her. "And I am far, far too big to be prancing around in fairy  
wings naked," she laughed.

"Oh." Hiei held out his own teacup to the grumbling Kurama.  
"Didn't I mention? It's not naked any more."

"Isn't it?"

"No. Somehow they got the idea that costumes would be much more  
effective." Hiei went on to describe the costumes, with vines  
twining round arms and legs and other strategic places.

"Someone must've upped the budget," said Kurama, sipping tea with  
the air of a spectator at a sporting match.

Shay-san placed a hand on her belly. "And this?"

"You can hide behind some fairy bushes," Hiei assured her.

Soon enough, Urameshi and Keiko arrived; then the Kuwabara  
siblings, and dinner was underway, accompanied by much razzing  
about the film. Hiei felt a growing sense of satisfaction with  
life in general, and the film in particular.

Later on that night, Shay-san picked one of Kurama's snapshots  
and scrawled at the bottom: 'Barefoot, Pregnant, and In The  
Kitchen!'

It was to become Hiei's favorite picture of her.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei was horribly busy in the days following the film. In the  
end, Shizuru, Kuwabara, Yuusuke and Kurama had all done bit parts  
as fairies, which Hiei never let Kurama forget.

He sat in the Silver Moon coffee shop, trying to work out a  
schedule for a seemingly-impossible grid of bookings before  
Father Brian arrived. Hiei had wanted his advice regarding the  
selection of godparents.

The coffee shop was only half-full when Hiei first sat down, but  
now there wasn't a free table in the place.

Hiei looked up to see a priest making his way toward him, but  
this was not the hale, middle-aged pit bull who had initiated  
Hiei. It was a tall, thin elderly man, a foreigner also by his  
look, lost and confused.

He had a faded, narrow face that radiated gentleness, and he held  
in quaking hands a tray with a steaming cup that seemed  
altogether too heavy for his frail appearance.

Hiei rose. "Father, come sit with me."

An expression of exquisite relief crossed the acetic features.  
"Bless you, child." His voice was low and gentle, like a flute.  
"In the old days, people were happy to see a man of the cloth."  
He set down the tray. "Nowadays---" Breaking off, he gave an  
eloquent little shrug.

Hiei reached into his shirt, fingers closing around the Rosary he  
always wore. Then he released the wooden Crucifix. He was not  
sure why. Maybe it was the look of alarm that flicked across the  
old man's face, as though Hiei might have been reaching for a  
shiv. "Are you all right, Father?"

"Just let me sip my tea." The priest raised the cup to his lips  
and took a tiny, discreet mouthful.

Hiei's coffee had long since gone cold. With the priest sitting  
across from him, he could hardly warm it himself. He wondered  
whether all such holy men could tell he was a demon.

The priest set down his tea, keeping his long, bony fingers  
curled around the cup as if for warmth. "Son," he began, fixing  
Hiei with the palest of watery blue eyes, "You mustn't use the  
Heartblade on her."

At a nearby table, a girl screamed with laughter.

The pencil dropped from Hiei's nerveless fingers. "I beg your  
pardon?"

"This is no chance meeting, my son. Do you not believe in fate?  
Oh, I wouldn't say anything against your Father Brian."

"How do you know---"

"No, indeed, far from it," continued the priest, as though Hiei  
had not interrupted. "Still. It cannot be denied that the man  
is a bit reckless. A fine priest, yes, but would he give the  
correct advice? He was ever cavalier about Scripture."

"I haven't even spoken to him about---"

"A good man, to be sure. We were at the seminary together.  
Still. You gamble with her immortal soul."

Hiei lowered his voice to a whisper. "What do you mean?"

"A demon plant from the demon plane?" The priest shrugged.

"But she's made use of demon herbs before---"

"Ah, poor child. I expect that has already left its stain upon  
her soul." The priest's gentle voice went on. "Perhaps not, eh?  
Still. A blade made from a demon plant, plunged into her  
innocent breast? It disturbs me. Perhaps she won't need it, eh?  
Perhaps her own strength will be enough to pull her through the  
coming ordeal."

The background clatter faded. Hiei's heart skipped a beat.

"But these parish priests---when you live in a community, as with  
the Jesuits, there are other folk to keep you from going too  
strange. Like a family. The parish priest is a lone wolf. A  
good man, though, Father Brian. I cannot speak against him."

The old priest lifted the heavy white cup and drank. "Thank you  
for sharing the table with me," he whispered. "We shall meet  
again." Then he rose and made his slow, careful way to the door.

Hiei's mind was whirling. Father Brian. Rogue priest. Wrong  
about the Dragon. Who to trust? Kurama had said the HeartBlade  
would not endanger Shay-san. But what did Kurama know of  
immortal souls? He did not attend Mass. He did not believe.

The sound of snapping fingers under Hiei's nose brought him  
around. Father Brian settled into the chair opposite him,  
dangerous, demanding, unstable. "What's to do, son?"

Hiei glanced at the door where the elderly priest had so recently  
gone out, thinking, I never even got his name.

"Nothing," he said. "Just a little overworked."

0-0-0-0-0

For an elderly gentleman he could move quickly when need arose.  
Darting glances up and down the street, he hurried for the  
nearest alley, to put some distance between himself and the  
coffee shop.

Sliding among the dumpsters, he came to a halt at last and rested  
against the brick wall, one hand pressed to his chest.

"If that Rosary had come out," he muttered.

"You'd be a goner," said a dry, scratchy voice.

The old priest whipped his head back and looked around. Seated  
on the apex of the nearest dumpster was a jaki. Blue-gray in  
color, it had a black mane of hair that failed to hide the two  
spiraling horns on its head.

"But it didn't come out," snapped the old man. His voice took on  
a new, whining tone. "Takes a lotta energy to maintain this  
appearance and mask my spectral powers."

"Bitch all you want. The price ain't going up."

The body of the old priest darkened and drew in on itself,  
quivering like a gelatin dessert until the transformation was  
complete. A shorter human-figured demon with gray skin, dark  
hair, and pointed ears stood there, cursing at the jaki in a  
voice that was flat and thick and unpleasant.

Then, his voice changing back to the old man's, he mocked, "Oo,  
I'm so frail! Just let me sip my friggin' tea!"

The jaki was un-moved by the performance.

The Shifter held out his hand. The jaki tossed him an envelope  
that landed at his feet; he stooped to pick it up, jamming it in  
a pocket.

"Your bonus," said the jaki, then flicked away.

Keeping up his soft litany of complaint, the Shifter morphed into  
the form of a twelve-year-old messenger boy and ducked out of the  
alley for the park and its deep shelter of trees, where he could  
count his money away from prying eyes.

0-0-0-0-0

At the premiere of A Midsummer Night's Dream, the audience  
consisted of the cast and crew, Kaasan, Mr. Hatanaka and Hatanaka  
Shuuichi, Father Brian, Dr. Smith, Kuwabara's pals, Keiko and her  
parents, Atsuko, and a handful of people not related to either.

At the press conference, Yukawa Kenji expressed delight and  
surprise. "It was a bigger crowd than I thought."

0-0-0-0-0

Late October brought a nip to the air at last, and Kurama's  
school uniform was barely warm enough as he hurried home. The  
afternoon chill wasn't the only thing on his mind. Something was  
wrong with Hiei, and it wasn't that the film tanked, as they'd  
all predicted it would.

Hiei now fluctuated between New Hiei and Old Hiei with alarming  
rapidity, reflected Kurama. Perhaps it had to do with the stress  
of impending fatherhood, but Kurama was unconvinced.

Rounding a corner, Kurama almost collided with a familiar figure.  
"Sorry," he murmured. Half a head shorter than Yuusuke, Father  
Brian McCormick was hard to miss, with those bulldog shoulders,  
salt-and-pepper hair, and black clerical garb.

The priest laid a hand on Kurama's arm. "Well, if it isn't the  
long-haired brigand of the group. I've been looking for you,  
laddy-boy."

"Why, Father?" Their relationship was distant if cordial, and  
Kurama had no reason to dislike the man, but some unstated  
urgency in the priest's demeanor set Kurama back on his heels.

"Suppose I buy you a cuppa at the Silver Moon." The priest slung  
an arm firmly around Kurama's waist, steering them both into the  
coffee shop, where he sat Kurama down.

"I'd prefer tea at the moment. If you don't mind."

"Not at all, not at all." Father Brian waved a waitress over,  
placed the order, then laced his strong, work-scarred hands  
together, regarding Kurama across the table. "Fact is, I'd like  
to have a little talk with you, son."

This is it, thought Kurama. He's out to convert me.

He waited in silence until their drinks arrived, formulating his  
response to the question he knew was coming: Son, have you  
considered your ultimate salvation?

Pushing his cup aside untasted, Father Brian gave Kurama a hard,  
measuring stare. "Son, I'm no theologian. Just a two-fisted  
street brawler that likes a glass o' whisky now 'n' then."

"My mother's getting married in your church," Kurama blurted.

"Yes, yes, lovely," said the priest, waving a dismissive hand.  
"Now on to business."

Kurama dared a sip of his hay-colored tea. Like everything  
served up at the Silver Moon, it was good. "Please continue."

"You and me, we're of a kind, though our approach is different."

Lifting an eyebrow, Kurama invited further elaboration.

"Both warriors. I think we understand one another."

Kurama hardly dared state he didn't understand at all.

"That little pissant and I were fated to meet. I was meant to  
come to this forsaken island---"

"---continent."

"---whatever, and see to his development. We get along, for all  
that I torment him, and one day, he'll reach his full potential  
and shock the holy Hell outta us all."

Kurama blinked. This was not the speech he had expected.

The priest clasped and unclasped his hands, and at last took a  
gulp of his coffee. When he lifted his gaze to Kurama, his eyes  
held puzzlement, apprehension, worry, many things, but  
evangelical fire was not one of them. "Hiei's stopped coming to  
Confession," he growled. "For the life of me, I can't figure out  
what's botherin' the lad."

The tea went metallic on Kurama's tongue.

"Neither can I," he said.

-30-

(To Be Continued: Why is Hiei hitting the bottle?)


	13. FS C12: Drunken Master Hiei

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C12: Drunken Master Hiei  
Author: JaganshiKenshin  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond  
Rating: T  
Summary: A little scotch goes a looong way.

A/N: On The Changing Shape of Hiei: Manga Hiei, when first  
introduced, came up to about Kurama's knee. Later, in the Beasts  
of Maze Castle anime story arc, he's shown (hair included!)  
reaching almost to Kurama's shoulder, and in some YYH promo art,  
even taller. It wasn't difficult to envision that Hiei might be  
undergoing a growth spurt---hence the running joke. And thanks to  
Jo-chan, for whom I wrote a draft of this, For Amusement Purposes  
Only, and to my surprise, it turned into a key chapter.

" Hiei! You can't kill pixies!"

Firebird Sweet C12: Drunken Master Hiei  
by  
Kenshin

"I hate sake," Hiei informed Kuwabara, preceding the rest of the  
boys into the little building, Shayla Kidd hanging onto his arm.  
"Don't even allow the kanji for sake drift across the vast  
wasteland of your so-called mind." He flung off his jacket,  
revealing a black sweatshirt that looked as though rats had  
chewed off the sleeves, far too little coverage for this chill  
November night. The other boys wore sweaters.

Leveling a glare at Yuusuke, Hiei added, his breath curling on  
the air, "And beer is for hyperactive adolescents posturing as  
adults."

"Which is why it's perfect for you," retorted Yuusuke.

"No beer," said Hiei.

"Then it's a very good thing I brought this," purred Kurama,  
reaching into the shopping bag in his hand.

Shayla Kidd didn't much like the way Kurama was smiling.

But then, she didn't like anything much about this particular  
set-up.

Kurama now withdrew two votive candles from the shopping bag, and  
placed them on the floor, where Hiei grudgingly set them alight.

They were inside a small building in the park, and Shayla was  
positive Kurama had picked the lock, although she couldn't prove  
it.

The building smelled of dust, and was vaguely reminiscent of one  
of the smaller rooms in Genkai's temple. It had the same wooden  
floors, but also a bank of folding chairs against one wall and a  
couple of triangular tables in the corners. Kurama had mentioned  
the building was used for lectures, classes, and, with the walls  
opened out, concerts. He went on to explain it could be a  
possible venue for Romantic Soldier, but Shayla had her  
suspicions it was only a possible venue for whatever scheme the  
fox-boy had cooked up tonight.

It was amusing to note how each boy reacted to her obvious  
condition, Kuwabara as though she were made of fragile blown  
glass, always asking if she wanted anything. Once suspicious of  
her very existence, Kurama had now appointed himself as both  
Shayla's guardian and personal physician (which tender concern,  
however, had apparently not rubbed off onto Hiei). Hiei himself  
seemed preoccupied, though he refused to let her lift anything  
heavier than a fork.

Only Yuusuke remained the same, cheerfully insulting and  
irreverent, the one constant in her fluctuating world.

Kurama's shopping bag held more than just candles, however. With  
a flourish, he brought forth a bottle of scotch.

Shayla gulped audibly, shuddering at the size of the bottle.  
This was no mere hip flask, but a full quart---enough to kill any  
ordinary man drinking it at one go.

Of course, Hiei was no ordinary man.

His tolerance for booze exceeded that of her late father, but so  
far he had not shown any inclination to drunkardness, for which  
she silently thanked God.

Releasing her arm, Hiei sank to his knees. "I hate each and  
every one of you," he said, glaring balefully at Kurama, Kuwabara  
and Yuusuke in turn. "With a white-hot passion that knows no  
bounds." Then he swiveled his head around to beam up at Shayla.  
"Not you, of course. Note that I was addressing only those  
persons in front of me."

She nodded, gulping. "And whose good idea was this?"

One by one, the members of Team Urameshi, aka Romantic Soldier,  
boy band of the moment, looked away. Hands in pockets,  
whistling, all they lacked were neon halos.

"I was trapped into this," snarled Hiei.

"Oh, poor sad Hiei," sighed Kurama, coming to sit cross-legged in  
front of the fire demon. "Is this your victim story?"

"A white-hot passion," continued Hiei, unscrewing the top of the  
bottle, "whose thirst can only be slaked by the screams of pain  
that will burst from your precious voice-box seconds before I rip  
it out."

"You sweet-talker, you," said Kurama.

Hiei swallowed some scotch. A lot of scotch.

At least, Shayla thought, he's enjoying himself. After a  
fashion. She had seen Hiei metabolize a beer or a couple of  
glasses of wine like it was water. But that was a big bottle of  
scotch.

Kuwabara helped her settle herself on the floor, and Shayla  
speared Kurama with a long look. "Suppose oni attack the  
bandstand while Hiei's drunk?"

"Not a problem." Hiei swallowed another good mouthful. "You can  
feed them Kurama. If they're still hungry, offer up Urameshi and  
the moron for dessert."

"Hey," griped Kuwabara, settling in next to Yuusuke, "I wasn't  
the one who---"

"Whatever happened to 'If I say a thing I do a thing' Hiei?"  
smirked Kurama.

"He died." Hiei put the bottle down. "Along with the rest of  
you, when he released the Kokuryuuha on those he hates with that  
white-hot passion." He cranked his head around back to blink at  
Shayla again. "Not you," he added.

"That's a comforting thought," she said. She was big now, and  
clumsy---eight months along and counting, coming into the middle  
of November. Her flaring temper had subsided of late, perhaps  
beaten into submission by what she liked to call 'the baby  
rodeo.' Both twins were active, and likely to be as athletically  
inclined as their parents, kicking her black and blue. In place  
of mood swings, she had developed an attitude of forbearance, and  
waiting. She felt a bit like a cow.

But that did not mean she relished being in Hiei's path should he  
lose enough control to unleash the black flames of Makai,  
although maybe this time it would be Sword of the Archangel,  
which would flatten the building and everything within a  
perimeter of a quarter-mile. Either way, the bandstand---and its  
occupants---would be in splinters.

"Come around where I can see you," Hiei ordered, taking another  
belt of scotch.

"Riight." Unable to rise without assistance, Shayla crab-  
scuttled toward the giggling cluster of boys, settling between  
Yuusuke and Kurama. "So I can be included in the carnage? How  
touching."

"What do you suppose Hiei'll do with a load on," stage-whispered  
Yuusuke, smacking Kuwabara on the knee. "Get all mopey and cry?"

"Or perhaps sing Enka," suggested Kurama, not bothering with the  
stage whisper. "Pity I've forgotten the karaoke mic."

"Naah," said Kuwabara, jerking his head at Kurama. "My money's  
on Hiei takin' a swing at you."

"I have a better idea." Hiei squinted at the bottle; its level  
had dropped dramatically. "How about throwing up all over your  
empty, Godless buffoon heads?"

Hiei's own head swung first one way, then the other, until he  
spotted Shayla. "Not you, though," he amended.

"That's what I love about you," she sighed. "Romantic to the  
bone."

She had seen Hiei with a bit of a buzz, but never knee-walking  
drunk, not like Atsuko or her own parents. She didn't think it  
was part of Hiei's nature to render himself too vulnerable. He  
disliked that feeling, and then some.

Hiei knocked back another slug. "Now, that fan mail thing," he  
said, wiping his mouth. "Who decided on the tradition of the one  
who gets the most letters each week has to draw a penalty?"

"Everyone knows that," interjected Kurama.

"I don't." Shayla turned to face him. "And neither does my  
uncle. You know, the entertainment lawyer."

"I remind you," said Kurama, somewhat jauntily, "that we are in  
Japan now, not America."

"The international entertainment lawyer," she corrected.

"Oi, Hiei," Yuusuke called out. "Maybe it would be a good idea  
if you sort of kind of put your katana in the corner. You know,  
just for the duration."

Rising, unshipping his sword, Hiei continued. "I am beginning  
not to believe in the randomness of randomness." He propped it,  
saya and all, in a corner, then staggered back to the group and  
pulled Yuusuke to his feet by the collar of his sweater.  
"Fractals, Urameshi. You know what I'm saying."

"Absolutely," Yuusuke assured him. "If you could just sort of  
stop choking me now---"

Hiei dropped Yuusuke and went on to Kuwabara, whom he had a bit  
more trouble hauling to his feet. "And don't tell me you don't  
understand what I'm saying."

"Hmmm." Kuwabara scratched his chin. "You mean fractal in the  
colloquial sense, or the mathematical?"

"Both." Hiei knocked back another slug of scotch.

"Then," said Kuwabara, "if you're talking about the geometric  
object having a Hausdorff dimension greater than its topical  
dimension---"

"Bingo. To borrow a phrase from that blue-haired oar jockey."  
Hiei gave a soft hiccup. "And the recursively-constructed shape  
as well."

"We've created a monster," muttered Kurama.

Hiei whirled on Kurama. "And once I get a true grasp on both  
senses of the fractal, I will haunt your sorry, half-assed  
kitsune tail to the end of eternity." He stood a moment, swaying  
uncertainly. "Or maybe not." Then he looked boozily up at  
Kuwabara.

Kuwabara frowned. "Did you just get taller?"

"That's what I've been saying all along," chorused Yuusuke and  
Kurama.

"Well?" demanded Kuwabara.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Shayla cut in. She had always looked  
up to Hiei; now she just had to look an inch or two farther.  
"He's probably getting decent nutrition for the first time in his  
life."

"Didn't know scotch was a vitamin," said Kuwabara.

"You see?" Hiei pointed dramatically at Kuwabara. "It's true.  
You, my good idiot, shall become a science teacher."

Kuwabara settled to the floor, grinning toothily. "Kuwabara the  
man, destined for greatness."

"Bullets won't stop it," groaned Yuusuke, slapping his forehead.

"Bullets?" Hiei sprayed a bit of scotch along with the word. "I  
laugh at bullets. They think they're so tough, with their  
shininess. Ch. They're not even alive."

Shayla put her head in her hands and let out a long sigh.

"Listen up, you miscreants." Hiei lifted the now-empty bottle,  
squinting at it. "Do you know why I am a better dancer with no  
training than any of you will ever become in seven lifetimes of  
serving under the greatest dancing master of all eternity?  
Lermontov excluded?" He twisted around to give Shayla a watery  
smile. "Not you, onna-dono." Pausing to point a finger at  
Kurama, Hiei went on. "Because I have an inborn genius for  
structure." He thumped his sturdy chest. "In here, deep down."

"Geez!" Yuusuke rolled his eyes. "Shay-san, is this how Hiei  
talks at home?"

"Hiei? Talk?" She raked a hand through her hair. "We  
communicate using an elaborate series of grunts and hand  
gestures."

"There's no pleasing you females," chuckled Kurama, sliding an  
arm around her shoulders.

"Kurama," she said, softly, so Hiei would not hear.

The redhead gave her an inquiring glance.

"I am so going to stab you in the head when this is all over and  
done with."

"Me?" Kurama fluttered his long lashes in stagy innocence.  
"What makes you think it was---oh, skip it." But he removed his  
arm from her shoulder nonetheless.

"And don't even get me started on quantum physics," warned Hiei  
darkly.

"We'll try to talk around it," Shayla soothed.

"A-hem," said Kurama. "We wanted to know what Hiei would be like  
when he's drunk."

Yuusuke sighed. "Well, at least now we know."

"No singing, no crying, no hitting," agreed Kuwabara.

"Just an endless stream of---encyclicals," added Kurama.

"Boring," yawned Yuusuke.

"And another thing." Hiei pointed the empty bottle at Yuusuke.  
"This shuffle feature. On the music box."

"Boom box," Shayla corrected, tiredly.

"Boom box. I do not believe in its randomness. I suspect that  
certain songs are more aggressive than others, and they fight.  
They push their weaker brethren aside, that they may be  
---hic---played more often." Hiei was visibly weaving now, but  
still managing to keep to his feet. "I refer, of course, to my  
own songs. They conquer the weaker songs of, oh, say, Kurama."

There was a moment of silence, during which Kurama feigned  
outrage, then---

----something little and fast pinged into the room. Shayla let  
out a startled gasp. Another one followed, then another, and  
then a stream of creatures were zooming overhead like pinballs.

Too big to be insects, too small to be oni, there were about a  
dozen of them, moving so fast her eyes could barely follow.

Yuusuke shot to his feet. "What the---?" One of the creatures  
went zooming past his head.

Kuwabara rose, too. "Oh, crap." He snatched at a passing  
creature, missing by a mile.

Hiei stopped in mid-rant, swiveling his head around. "What the  
what?"

The creatures were keening in high little earbleeding voices.  
Bats? wondered Shayla; Oh, Lord, bats creep me out! But one  
flicked past her nose and she saw that it was human-figured and  
female, with greenish skin, no wings, and teeny pointed ears.  
She calculated it might, if it ever stood still, come up to her  
knee.

So. Not bats. In fact they looked a bit like pixies. But if  
one of them should strike her full-force---

"Don't worry, Jellybean, Starfish," she whispered, curving both  
hands protectively over her belly. "Mommy won't let anything---"

In a flash, someone scooped her up and deposited her on the  
corner table.

"Kurama!" She looked up into the glint of emerald eyes.

He shrugged. "Well. Seeing as it's always Kuwabara who gets to  
play this part."

A pixie pinged past her head. Kurama covered her, both arms  
braced against the wall to either side.

"You figured it was your turn?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Something like that."

"You're cute when you blush."

Yuusuke and Kuwabara were bellowing instructions at one another,  
in full pursuit of the invaders, snatching at empty air, caught  
between breathless laughter and curses.

"Damn it, you idiots. I knew this would happen." Still weaving  
a bit, Hiei lunged to the corner, snatching up his katana. He  
slid it from its saya and went after one of the little creatures.

"Hiei!" she admonished. "You can't kill pixies!"

"Well. Technically speaking, they're not pixies," said Kurama.  
"They're mizu no odoroko. Water sprites are---"

More of them came bounding into the room, bouncing off the  
ceiling and walls, shrieking like miniature buzz saws. Kurama  
again braced both arms, covering her from the barrage, grunting  
as a few of them used his back for a trampoline.

"Stand still, you obnoxious odoroko," snarled Hiei, stabbing with  
the katana.

Shayla glanced worriedly at the pixies, then back at Kurama.  
"Are they poisonous?"

Kurama shook his head.

"Do they have claws? Teeth? Spells? Dangerous in any other  
way?"

Kurama kept shaking his head. "Water sprites, as demons go, are  
considered harmless. They're low enough in spectral power to  
pass through most barriers, like jaki. Although they will bite  
if you happen to catch one and squeeze a little too hard."

"Hiei!" She raised her voice. "No killing the pixies!"

"No one tells Hiei who to kill and who not to k-kill," he  
hiccuped, dropping the katana, then snatching it up again.  
Scowling, he smacked it back into its saya and started batting at  
pixies with the sheathed sword.

"Nice technique," mocked Kuwabara. "I can see you never played  
baseball as a kid."

"I never played anything as a kid." Hiei swung the saya  
overhead, narrowly missing Kuwabara's skull. "Why don't you shut  
your pie hole, unless you plan to use it as a pixie trap?"

When Hiei connected a solid blow to Yuusuke's shoulder, and the  
two of them went down in a death struggle for the saya, Kurama  
loudly suggested that Yuusuke and Kuwabara go outside and try to  
see where the pixies were coming from.

"Good idea," said Kuwabara, plucking Yuusuke off the snarling  
fire demon and pushing him out the door. "Be right back!"

Hiei scrambled to his feet, bottle in one hand, sword in the  
other.

"Wow," Shayla said, impressed. "And all this time Hiei still had  
the bottle."

"Of course I had the bottle," Hiei informed her, hiccuping.  
"When I say I am going to do a thing---"

"Yes," said Kurama. "You do it. Et cetera, and so forth."

Hiei slid the katana back into his belt, then went after the  
pixies with the bottle.

Turning back, Kurama gave her a waiting-room smile. "And how is  
my little patient feeling today?"

"Great," she muttered. "My back hurts, I can't take a full  
breath, and I have to pee every thirty seconds."

"Right on schedule." Kurama curled his body over hers as five of  
the pixies ricocheted from floor to ceiling.

"If I never see another male," she said, muffled a bit by the  
folds of Kurama's voluminous fisherman's sweater, "it will be too  
soon. I'm clumsy, fat and ugly."

"No," he corrected. "You look wonderful."

She snorted.

"I distinctly recall you saying that flattery will get me  
everywhere." He bent closer as a pixie zoomed past them,  
chittering.

"So you're saying I actually am clumsy, fat and ugly."

"N-no, I meant---"

The genuine look of alarm flashing over Kurama's features made  
her laugh. Another pixie whirled by; she could just make out its  
face.

It was scared. Why?

"Hey." Wobbling over to them, Hiei shoved Kurama to one side  
with the hand that wasn't glued to the bottle. "Get away from my  
woman." He blinked at her. "Are you okay, woman?"

"Fine," she sighed.

The pixies were thinning out now, their shrill, obnoxious voices  
fading, but a few stubborn stragglers remained.

"Hiei." One of the straggling pixies used Kurama's head for a  
springboard; he brushed a hand through his devastated hair.  
"Hadn't you better put that bottle down?"

Without looking, Hiei batted a pixie and sent it tumbling out the  
door; his speed and accuracy were returning. "Why? I can still  
find a use for it. I can, for instance, smash it over your  
presumptuous skull."

Kurama rolled his eyes. "My, Jiichan, what big words we use."

"Simmer down, boys," Shayla said, tiredly. Then, to Hiei: "Why'd  
you let them maneuver you into this in the first place?"

"Why?" Hiei drew himself up and shot a sidewise glare at Kurama.  
"Because I am a personage of integrity. Unlike certain others,  
whom I loathe with a---"

"Yes, yes," interjected Kurama. "We know all about your white-  
hot passions."

"Be that as it may." Shayla leveled her own look at Kurama, who  
had the grace to blush and look away. "Why?"

She waited for Kurama's answer. What purpose would it serve,  
except for a few laughs at Hiei's expense?

And why did the water sprite look scared?

Kurama shrugged. "We've seen Dancing Hiei and Rosary Hiei and  
Singing Hiei. The only thing left seemed to be Falling-Down-  
Drunk Hiei."

"And," added Hiei, smugly, "I know how to fall."

"And you certainly are drunk," murmured Kurama.

A bit of her old temper flared, like a dying match-head. "Who  
got him that way?"

"But I beg to remind you," sniffed Hiei, "that I never fell down.  
Not once."

"Yes, you did," said Kurama.

"I was pushed. By Urameshi. That doesn't count."

"We decided on the old tradition," repeated Kurama, turning back  
to Shayla, "that whoever had the most fan letters would agree to  
a penalty---"

"In other words," she cut him off. "You cheated."

"At your service, Ma'am." Kurama performed a sweeping  
Shakespearean bow.

But she had learned that the fox-boy masked his feelings with  
wit, a tactic familiar to her, as she often employed it herself.  
"So you're protecting me friom a sense of guilt."

"Guilt? Me? I---"

"Did you enjoy your short, futile existence, Kurama?" Hiei eyed  
the empty bottle, then Kurama. "What would you like your  
gravestone to say? 'Here lies master thief Youko Kurama, who  
played fast and loose with the concept of honor one too many  
times.' Ow." Hiei winced, gingerly prodding his temple with a  
forefinger. "My head."

Hiei had already metabolized the scotch into morning-after  
hungover phase. Shayla winced along with him.

Yuusuke and Kuwabara came thundering back inside.

Hiei dropped the bottle and tried to cover both ears. "Not so  
loud," he whispered.

"No more pixies?" Kuwabara glanced around the temple.

"Water sprites," corrected Yuusuke. "Mizu no odoroko. Known to  
be relatively harmless, unless you squeeze one too hard and they  
bite you, for which Hiei would no doubt advise pre-emptive  
strikes on Pixie Nation."

"Mock my pain," said Hiei, through gritted teeth. "See what  
happens the next time you're out of matches and need me to light  
one of your wretched cigarettes."

"Whooo." Yuusuke held up both hands. "I'm scared."

Hiei called him something in Japanese that took Shayla several  
moments to unravel. When she worked it out, she whistled in  
admiration.

"Anyway," said Yuusuke. "We followed a couple of them."

"To the lake," added Kuwabara, proudly.

"In the park," added Yuusuke.

"How extraordinary," said Kurama. "Water sprites, coming from a  
lake." He paused, frowning. "Just so I am not accused of  
withholding information this time, you will note that I stated  
for the record, on this date, that water sprites are often  
paradoxically, attracted to fire demons."

"So they came after Hiei?" wondered Shayla.

"Who cares about pixies coming after me?" Hiei put a hand to his  
head, groaning. "I only care if you can eat them as a cure for  
hangovers."

"Take this." Reaching into his pocket, Kurama thumbed a paper  
packet of crystals over to Hiei. "With liquid," he said. "See?  
I'm not exactly heartless."

"Just mostly," said Hiei, shuddering as he sprinkled the crystals  
over his tongue.

"I said with liquid," Kurama sighed.

Hiei pulled a face, gagging. "Keh!"

"Oh, and drink lots of water to flush the toxins away." Kurama  
patted Hiei's shoulder.

"Yeah," snickered Yuusuke. "Mosey on down and drain the Pixie  
Homeland."

Shayla took as deep a breath as it was now possible for her to  
take and looked around. Still shuddering from the taste of the  
crystals, Hiei went to the center of the room and picked up his  
jacket, belting it back again with the razor-sharp precision of  
movement that told her he had sobered up. Yuusuke and Kuwabara  
each lifted a candle, inspecting the floor.

"I am not cleaning up any pixie crap," Yuusuke announced.

"You will when I turn your head into a mop," Hiei informed him.

"Can't we all just get along?" pleaded Kurama.

"Let's sing Kumbaya," suggested Kuwabara.

"I hope you've learned a lesson in all this," grumbled Hiei.

"Yeah." Kuwabara sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "We  
did."

"Next time," said Yuusuke, "we'll bring two bottles."

0-0-0-0-0

Something was different in Warehouse Number Four, but Carlos  
couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Leaving the wall of surveillance equipment, he strolled around  
the warehouse, giving the office a wide berth.

The Boss had not launched any new attacks, banking instead on  
what he swore would be 'a sure bet' following the birth of the  
target's child. The scheme, the Boss assured them, would result  
in the death of the fire-haired girl, without any of them having  
to lift a finger. And then, he had gone on to talk at length  
about the varieties of his poisons, and what they would do to the  
target when it was finally time to bring him down.

Still, the Boss was broody and sullen, preferring to hide in the  
office, and it wasn't only Carlos who steered clear of him.

The rest of the redshirts did, too, even Shifter, whom they  
whispered had played an integral part of the scheme.

In a rare display of camaraderie, Shifter was huddled around a  
space heater with the oni, playing cards. Carlos nodded to them  
in passing.

The oni had probably thought (at least, until so many of their  
number were killed) they'd never had an easier job, with its high  
pay and long stretches of nothing to do but play cards until  
their salaries changed hands in endless rounds of win-lose.

But if the redshirts got as twitchy as he did---

Suddenly Carlos wanted to be anywhere but here. Even the teeming  
favelas of his native Rio de Janeiro would be preferable. Any  
place he had the freedom to walk where he chose, see whom he  
chose, eat when he chose.

The November night was so clear and still that every outside  
sound was thrown into sharp relief: the slap of water on the  
docks, the creak of rope, the distant blare of traffic.

Tomorrow, he promised, I'll leave Olive or Purple in charge and  
run to that little outdoor cafe with the dragon rolls. I don't  
care if it's 20 degrees and snowing.

Passing beneath the catwalks, Carlos stopped, frowned in  
puzzlement, and glanced all around.

At last, he knew what was different about Warehouse Number Four.

Hurrying back to the card-playing oni, he demanded, "Where the  
hell are the water sprites?"

-30-

(To Be Continued: Birth, death, resurrection.)


	14. FS C13: Birth, Death, Resurrection

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C13: Birth, Death, Resurrection (part One)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: An unexpected phone call leads to tragic events.

A/N: Thanks to all those who've been reading and reviewing this!

Sometimes help arrives too late

Firebird Sweet C13: Birth, Death, Resurrection (Part One)

by

Kenshin

Hiei stood beneath a cover of evergreens, katana drawn, battle-ready. About ten feet away stood one of his two opponents, also battle-ready, a practiced sneer on his lips. The other opponent lurked behind a bush, menacing in the early-morning chill.

Hiei's breath steamed; frost-bitten grass crunched underfoot. "I suggest you offer up what prayers you can." He accompanied his words with a blinding flurry of swordplay that his opponent dodged, while Hiei in turn dodged the answering energy blast. The second opponent feinted with his own weapon, then sprang out of reach before Hiei could retaliate.

The three combatants stilled for a moment, taking one another's measure. They stood in the most secluded area of the park, where no one was likely to hear screams or smell blood, quite some distance from the bandstand where, only two days ago, Kurama had conspired to get Hiei drunk.

But Hiei was feeling fine now. He laughed at the one who had aimed a ball of ki at his head: "Is that all you've got?"

That one responded with an extremely rude remark about Hiei's ancestry. The taller opponent added to the insult, complete with flourishes regarding Hiei's prowess with the opposite sex, comments which the other opponent punctuated with further energy attacks that Hiei easily avoided.

"You're just jealous because I have a woman and you don't," Hiei responded smoothly, ducking behind a tree.

"WHAT?" The shorter opponent sprang forward, dark eyes ablaze as he launched a flurry of fists, which Hiei avoided almost without thinking. "You take that back this instant!"

"Can't," Hiei said. "Keiko's not a woman. She's a girl."

"Keh!" snarled Urameshi.

Fighting enemies could be brutal, Hiei reflected; sparring with friends was far worse.

As if reading Hiei's mind, Kurama flung a series of razor-edged petals in Hiei's direction, ignoring the fact that Urameshi was in the way. "Hey," complained Urameshi, dropping and rolling as Hiei batted the petals aside with his katana. "Who's your target, him or me?"

"Does it matter?" Kurama wasn't even winded.

But Hiei was breathing a little hard, if only with laughter. These two made his ribs hurt. Too bad the moron wasn't enjoying this as well. As if Hiei didn't know exactly where Kuwabara was, and it wasn't school either.

"Yuusuke." Kurama aimed a whiplash at Urameshi. "Hiei and I are forging an alliance against you."

"Like hell we are." Hiei launched himself at Kurama's legs, knocking them out from under the kitsune. "They haven't minted the money to make me turn on my friends."

"Money?" There was a cool glint in Kurama's eyes as he sprang lightly to his feet. "I have your wife and kids hostage. Now you'll ally yourself with me and turn on Yuusuke."

"Don't even think that!" In protest, Urameshi flung a warning dart of a Rei-Gun past Kurama's ear. "Using a guy's family---that's really low."

Kurama didn't even bother to flinch. "We have to think it." The fox-boy scattered a handful of seeds near Urameshi; the seeds sprouted into thin, tough vines that soon had the Spirit Detective roped tight.

Hiei dove in and lopped off the vines with a quick blow of the katana. "Play nice," he instructed Kurama.

"Why?" he responded. "The enemy won't."

"Riiight." Urameshi rolled his eyes. "The deadly pixies."

"New foes always crop up," retorted Kurama.

Hiei opened his mouth to respond, when the 'Bat-Phone' in his pocket buzzed. Smacking the katana back into its saya, he flicked up into the nearest tree, dodging both Kurama's Rose Whip and Urameshi's fists.

"Hold it." He waved them quiet. "I got a call."

Urameshi cupped both hands around his mouth: "Stop the presses. Hiei has a _call_."

"I'll alert the media." Wrapping his Rose Whip around Hiei's branch, Kurama tugged, trying to dislodge him.

Ignoring them, Hiei dug out the phone. It was Shay-san. He listened to the sound of his firebird 's voice for a minute, half an ear on the barrage of insults both boys hurled his way.

Then he clicked the phone shut. "Gotta go."

"Let me guess." Urameshi folded his arms, scowling. "Wussy Boy has to go pick up _diapers_."

"She's alone, and scared." Gathering himself for a leap, Hiei knew they didn't yet understand.

"That oni?" Urameshi snorted. "Scared? No way."

"Probably a spider in the bathtub," added Kurama, with a long-suffering sigh.

Hiei didn't spare them a glance. "She's in labor." He vaulted from the tree, heading for home.

"Holy---! We're right behind you," shouted Urameshi. But Hiei was already too far away to answer.

0-0-0-0-0

Carlos held the earpiece close, to block out ambient noise from the warehouse. And there was a lot of it; the whole roster of redshirts plus the Boss were crowded around the rack of surveillance equipment, where their operative had just called in.

Listening hard for a moment or two, Carlos then spoke to the eager onlookers:

"They took her to Mercy Hospital just now. The girl."

"This is it!" Olive oni punched a jubilant fist in the air; the Boss remained oddly silent, his arms crossed over his paunch, neither gloating nor laughing.

"We've got jaki stationed all around the hospital," added Carlos. "They'll let us know the minute it happens."

Olive grinned. "Here's where Shifter's soap opera pays off."

Shifter, for his part, looked rather pleased.

0-0-0-0-0

Childbed fever, it was once called.

It had killed many a new mother, back in the days when human medicine was in a crude stage. It still killed the occasional woman in backward countries, those with poor sanitation. Not here, though. Not in modern-day Japan, with its gleaming hospitals and pinpoint medicines.

But Hiei was not human, and neither were Shay-san's babies.

That was why they'd considered the risk of the Heartblade.

Still. When Shay-san did not sicken immediately after delivery of the twins---fraternal, boy and girl---Kurama had breathed a sigh of relief. No need for the device, then. He had put it back in his knapsack, congratulated everyone, and returned home to catch some sleep.

Then came the call in the middle of the night, and Kurama left at a dead run.

By the time he reached the hospital, Kuwabara and Yukina were gathered in the lounge, along with Shizuru, who held her unlit cigarette as though she didn't know it was there. Yukina sat with her back ramrod-straight, close to Kuwabara as if his strength could shield her.

Kuwabara looked ill. Of them all, he had been the most welcoming to Shay-san when she had arrived, bedraggled and half-dead from Hiei's desperate flight over the Pacific Ocean.

Kurama shut his eyes a moment, remembering the far different scene of jubilation, with everyone crowding around the hospital room. Hiei had spoken to them all in first in English, for the benefit of Father Brian, who was pressing cigars upon anyone who would accept:

("The babies squirted out like watermelon seeds," Hiei informed them, showing off his twins, beaming at Shay-san, who looked tired but pink and healthy. "Easy! Look." The baby girl curled her fingers around Hiei's. "Look at those perfect little fingers," he crowed. "And her---" He jerked his head at Shay-san--- "See what she did to me? Cute, yes?" Thrusting out a forearm marked with five long, bloody scratches, he laughed. "You should hear the names she called me. Yuusuke, you could learn from her.")

Kurama lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Kuwabara.

Kuwabara shook his head. "He was so damned proud of her."

"Nothing I did was of any help." Yukina's eyes shimmered.

Past tense? Uneasy, Kurama hurried round the corner.

He stopped. The priest---Father Brian---was there in the hallway, speaking in low tones to the obstetrician Dr. Gojo. Those unhappy and reluctant head-shakes, that slumped, defeated posture, did not speak of good news.

Kurama knew that priests were called in to administer rites to the dying. The pit of his stomach gave a lurch.

I'm too late, he thought, but the priest looked up and met his gaze, and nodded down the corridor.

But Dr. Gojo stepped forward to bar the way. "No visitors."

"Ahh, let him," said Father Brian. "Let him be there for his friend. God knows the only thing we can do now is pray."

Dr. Gojo's beady little eyes studied Kurama; then he grudgingly moved aside to let Kurama into the room.

Kurama shut the door behind him. Hiei stood by Shay-san's bedside, his hands covering hers.

Her breathing was shallow and thready, her face glistening with sweat, her skin grayish. Dark thumbprints marked her eyes. The monitors had been disconnected; there was no intrusive sound of technology.

Kurama flung a handful of spores at the door to create a barrier of silence, then locked it with a sutra. His secret ploy of getting Hiei drunk so he would reveal what was bothering him had backfired; everyone had insisted on tagging along to watch. Maybe now, with the two of them alone--three, Kurama amended hastily, with a glance at the dying girl---

Without looking up, Hiei said, "She's a little more at peace now that Father Brian has given her Last Rites." His voice sounded flat, calm, emotionless---a very bad sign.

"You should have called me back sooner."

"It happened too fast. In the space of maybe one hour."

"Never mind that. I'm here now, and she's still breathing." Reaching into his pack, Kurama got out the Heartblade. By now, it was as big as his hand, and hard as steel, each facet of its intricate fretwork sharp as a razor's edge, bone-white in color. He had to hold it carefully lest it cut him.

Kurama extended the Heartblade to Hiei. Hiei looked down at it, shook his head, turned away.

Placing the Blade on the bed, where it would neither fall nor accidentally cut the girl, Kurama said patiently, "Hiei. We foresaw this possibility. We discussed it. We even checked it with her uncle, the demonologist. Remember?"

"The doctor can do nothing. Even Yukina can do nothing."

"I'm aware of that. This is all that can save her."

Hiei looked up at Kurama for the first time. In his eyes Kurama saw glaciers.

"Kurama, you don't understand. I had her for eight months. She changed my life. But I'm talking about her immortal soul. Do I want her body to die? Of course not; I can't even think what it will be like without her."

Never before had Hiei spoken like this within Kurama's earshot; he would answer direct questions about the church, but briefly, with reluctance. To hear such talk made Kurama flinch.

"I will not risk her soul for any reason," Hiei continued, in that lifeless voice. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Kids need their father and mother both." What followed was a fearfully cruel thing to say to the half-Kourime, but Kurama had no other choice. "You of all people should know this."

Hiei kept his gaze fixed on Shay-san, as if he had to maintain that connection with the girl, sealing her in his memory forever. "They're not like me, my twins. They won't be alone. Her uncles and aunt, her cousins---Yukina has already agreed to help raise them."

"And what about you? Will you find another mate?"

Hiei gave a bark of a laugh. "Again, you don't understand. She and I---we're bound by something I can't begin to explain, even to myself." He shut his eyes. Shay-san's eyes had not opened since Kurama entered the room. Her hands, pinioned inside Hiei's, gave a little twitch.

"And what if you'll be doing the highest good by saving her? What does Father Brian say?"

Hiei did not answer.

So. Something really was wrong here. And they were running out of time. "Take the Blade! What are you waiting for?"

"I won't go to Hell for her. She wouldn't want that. And I won't send her there myself."

"Stubborn fool."

"Maybe so. Better than damning her for an eternity. Or myself, if it comes to that."

Kurama struggled not to shout. "How can saving her life damn it?"

"This---Heartblade---it's a demon plant."

"Hiei." Kurama spoke now as to a small child. "That's the point. You are a demon. Your twins are half-demon."

"But _she_ is not."

"Yes," repeated Kurama. "That's why she's ill. That's why you need this blade, selected by you, marked with your ki-print, fed with her life force."

"And tended by you?"

"If that's what's stopping you---" Kurama blew out a breath in frustration. "You don't trust me? You think I mean for the blade to kill her? Fine! Look at her, Hiei. She's two heartbeats from death as it is. If I wanted her to die all I need do is wait."

"No. I know you would save her. And you can't know how much I want her to live."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"The demonic aura----"

"Hiei...!" _Damn it_, thought Kurama, _you could have brought this up before now!_

Shay-san's breathing gave a little hitch, then resumed.

Kurama now found himself in the strange position of arguing something which he did not quite believe, with time running out.

And a very small part of him (Youko, no doubt, he thought ruefully) wondered what would happen if Shay-san should die. Would everything go back to the way it was?

The part that was Minamino Shuuichi was ashamed of such thoughts.

Kurama did not believe in the God of Hiei and Shay-san. But this was Hiei, and his back was against the wall. Each moment of delay could cost her life.

_All right_, Kurama said silently. _To the forces in which Hiei believes: Help me to do this. Let me argue well_.

"And do you suppose, Hiei, that you know everything there is to know about this situation? Is that not sheer arrogance?"

"Ch." A muscle in Hiei's cheek twitched.

_Stupid, stubborn fire demon!_ Kurama thought; _I know you don't want her to die!_

"Doesn't this bring to mind another, earlier situation, where you had to hurt her---and badly---to save her? When she was poisoned by the claws of El Chupacabra? And did you not use medicine crafted of demon origin?"

Hiei nodded, slowly. "Of course. And it was you who gave me those potions. But back then, I couldn't even frame the question. I acted on instinct."

"Your instinct was right. Can't your God place before you all the elements you need to pull her through? And you would both be alive, with time for reparation."

"Time," whispered Hiei.

"Doesn't your church preach forgiveness of sins?"

"Yes. What you did to drive us apart---it came from a good motive. I forgave you long ago."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

"Keh." The muscle twitched again.

"When there is life there is also hope," Kurama stressed, eyeing the Heartblade.

Hiei drew a shuddering breath. "And if I fail? You said the Heartblade sometimes kills the father. If we both die, in a state of damnation?"

"Since when does Hiei speak failure? There's a war going on, and you know it. You're a soldier in that war. And what about her? Isn't she needed in the fight? Isn't this Satan of yours laughing now?"

"This is the Devil's own argument."

"Would your Devil urge you to continue the fight against him? You have a duty to bear arms for as long as you can!"

"And sometimes it's also our portion to lay down our lives."

"Not if you can avoid it. The Hiei I know never gives up."

"If by giving up I can gain her the afterlife---"

"But what about now?" _Please_, added Kurama, silently, _you bull-headed creature, let this hit home_! "Think of having to tell her aunt and uncles and cousins: 'Yes, she was all right at first, but then she got sick. I could have saved her, and did nothing, so she died.' Think of having to tell Kaasan. Think of the look on Kuwabara's face. Of having to show your son and daughter photos of their mother, as the only way they will be able to know her."

Hiei could have been a statue.

"You can't tell me your kids don't need their mother. You can't tell me _you_ don't need their mother."

"She tries to mother you, fox-boy."

"I know."

"She tried to mother them all." For the first time there was a break in Hiei's voice.

"Coward," whispered Kurama.

Hiei spun, his eyes flashing fire. Kurama took a step back.

"I don't know how long fire demons live. Do you? I could live a thousand years! I could be dead at thirty!"

Now. Now it could begin. Now that Hiei was no longer the frozen Kourime. "And your point is? ..."

"What's a thousand years compared to eternity?"

"So you will allow her to die. Your mate, mother of your twins, your comrade in arms, my friend?" Kurama laid both hands on Hiei's shoulders. The fire demon made no attempt to squirm away, but every muscle was trembling.

"Hiei. I know you. I know what you are. What does your fighter's heart tell you to do?"

Hiei's gaze turned inward. His head drooped until he was staring at the floor.

The lateness of the hour seeped into Kurama's bones.

Out in the hall came the faint sounds of hospital life: the ping of the elevator. The squeak of nurses' shoes. Code Blue.

On the bed, the girl's breathing rasped.

With a wordless cry, Hiei snatched the Heartblade. He yanked the hospital gown away. Blade in both hands, he leapt up to straddle the girl. Lifted the Blade on high so he could get the full strength of his body behind the blow.

Already the Blade had cut into his hands; his blood seeped though its fretwork and dripped off the wicked, razor tip onto Shay-san, tap-tap-tap.

Reacting to the power inherent in Hiei himself, light gathered around the filigree of the heart until it seemed as bright as a sun, searing Kurama's eyes, casting a glow down onto the girl's still form.

The girl's eyes slitted open; she looked up, saw Hiei. The memory of a smile played on her fever-cracked, haggard lips. She breathed out: "Five ... minutes ..."

Then her eyes closed, and the ragged rise and fall of her ribcage ceased.

-30-

(To Be Continued: While the enemy rejoices, others mourn)


	15. FS C14: Youko's Sacrifice

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C14: Youko's Sacrifice

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Sometimes loss occurs in the twinkling of an eye.

A/N: I'll be sticking with shorter chaps for now. Your reviews are appreciated!

Can it really be too late?

Firebird Sweet C14: Birth, Death, Resurrection (part Two: Youko's Sacrifice)

by

Kenshin

"The girl's dead!" cried the purple oni, capering madly, waving a bottle of sake.

In Warehouse Four, down by the docks, they were throwing a party, and it was Carlos who had just taken the confirming call from their operatives at the hospital.

"Time to run the highlights tape," announced the red oni.

0-0-0-0-0

Across the street from Mercy Hospital, a man hung up the phone.

He was dressed very sparsely for such a chill night---jeans topped by a black leather vest open at the front to display his bulging chest muscles. Upon his shoulder sat an excited dun-brown jaki, the size of a large wharf rat, and with just as long and naked a tail. "She's dead!" The jaki yipped. "I saw it with my own eyes!"

The small creature would probably have not provided much additional warmth for the tall man. Tattoos decorated his bare, powerful arms, and his yellow hair was cropped close to his skull. There was a predatory gleam in his narrow, dark eyes.

He towered above his companion, a younger man whose greasy black hair flopped over his face in a vain attempt to disguise its rounded contours. Ozawa Hideo was a small-time racketeer; he had never before been so intimately involved in a job which ended in death.

Its job finished, the dun-brown jaki catapulted from the tall man's shoulder and vanished into the night, as if it could not tolerate one further moment of contact.

The man, Azuma Ken, gave a grunt of displeasure and turned to his companion. "Why in friggin' hell it takes two of us to make a phone call..!" He balled a meaty fist and struck a ringing blow to the telephone kiosk.

Ozawa Hideo backed hastily away from Azuma. He shivered.

For a moment, it looked as though Ken were about to strike his co-worker, his teeth bared in a snarl, both fists ready, as if unsatisfied by contact with a mere inanimate object. When instead he wheeled on his great muscular legs and strode off without a backward glance, Ozawa let out a great sigh of relief.

Thrusting a hand into his jacket, closing it around the comforting wad of money given them by the jaki, Ozawa also hurried away from Mercy Hospital.

0-0-0-0-0

In Warehouse Four, the girl's 'Highlights' tape was playing to a rapt audience.

Gathered around the surveillance equipment, redshirts and Boss alike drank freely as they watched hastily-spliced shots of the fire-haired girl when she had been caught on-camera, clutching the target's hand, or walking down the street herself, slow and careful and big with child.

"That was a good one," snickered the red oni, pointing to the final, most recent shot of the girl disembarking from a taxi in front of the hospital.

"He shoots, he scores!" Olive Oni took a long drink of sake and clapped Shifter on the back.

Shifter grinned like a toad, for once not skulking near the packing crates, for once the center of attention and enjoying it.

The other oni and the Boss also appeared to be enjoying themselves. The water sprites---who had silently and mysteriously returned---did not join in the celebration. They huddled together under a catwalk, muttering in their incomprehensible language. But many jaki darted around the feet of the celebrants, snatching up scraps of food.

One of the jaki hung back. Carlos did not normally bother to distinguish one from another, but this was hard to miss, with its broken nose and rufous tuft of hair like a Mohawk. It darted an unreadable glance at Carlos, then slunk out the warehouse door into the November night.

Carlos watched it go.

For a moment, the thought of joining the tiny demon stirred him with a strange longing. He could not leave, however. He would be missed.

Neither could he stand still. Moving away from the group that crowded the monitor like they were watching a ball game, Carlos wandered the floor of the warehouse.

While he was no pantywaist, the wholesale slaughter of innocents held no favor with him.

Such actions were all too reminiscent of the huntsmen who came to the _favelas_, those men who gunned down street urchins as though they were rabbits, simply because they were bored with conventional game and there was no one to stop them.

Having been the target of such hunts, Carlos felt little kinship with the hunters. Running dry-mouthed through the night, your heart pounding, bullets whining past, scrambling to keep your body between the death-spitting guns and Bebita---

Carlos shut his eyes. The knife-edge of his sister's disappearance could still cut him.

It was only after Bebita was gone that Carlos took cool stock of his situation. By covert inquiry he managed to attach himself to one of the huntsman. He was ten when that happened; six months later he had graduated to running messages for a minor-league drug lord from another of the _favelas_. For the next five years Carlos had worked with a fiery determination toward a single-minded goal: finding his dark-eyed, curly-haired little sister.

Bebita of the flowers.

And when it became apparent that Bebita was not to be found, his single-minded goal changed to putting as much distance between himself and Brazil as possible.

The water sprites chittered, shifting away from Carlos as he passed their location, their large greenish eyes not exactly fearful, but watchful of his every move.

Back at the monitor, the group roared with laughter. The Boss shouted for Carlos, and he hurried back.

It was what it was. And at least now, with the target's children left motherless, his destruction could speed along.

0-0-0-0-0

Until the end of his life, Kurama would always recall that split-second, that space of an eyeblink, wondering whether the Heartblade had been properly tended, if the balance was somehow wrong, if the blade would suck too much ki from Hiei and cause his death as well.

That moment: Hiei bathed in light, holding the Heartblade overhead, Shay-san's lifeless form beneath him, the only sound and movement the drip of blood tap-tapping from the point of the blade to her chest.

Then with a force Kurama could feel even from that distance, Hiei slammed the Heartblade into her, and threw his own ki down to follow.

An explosion of light and sound blew Kurama back. He had to grip the metal footrail with both hands to keep from being smashed into a wall. For countless agonized moments the howl of light blasted him, tearing at his hair and clothing with hurricane force, searing his vision. He turned his face away from the painful brightness, tightened his grip on the footrail.

Something clapped air from his lungs, like a giant's hand swatting him, and he struggled to take another breath, but the wind tore it away, laughing, and the light burned his skin, and Kurama hung on.

Gradually, the howling wind abated. The light dimmed to a tolerable level. Kurama fell to his knees. For several moments he clung to the footrail, gasping air into his lungs.

Had he been too late?

Kurama hauled himself upright and peered at the bed. Perhaps five, ten seconds had passed.

There was no sound in the room, only a ringing in his ears.

Shay-san's face! Color had returned to her cheeks. She was breathing again, deep and even. There was not a mark on her.

But Hiei---

The Heartblade had melted upon penetration. Hiei still straddled the girl, his bloodied hands curled around empty air where the Blade had been, frozen.

Then, eyes rolling up so only the whites showed, and before Kurama could pry his own hands from the footrail, Hiei toppled from the bed to crash face-down to the floor.

Kurama sprang forward. He reached Hiei's side, turned him over. Hiei's skin was ice, his face pale as marble, a thin thread of blood trickling from his lip where it had been bitten or cut in the fall. Kurama felt for a pulse, could not find it.

"Hey." Kurama shook the fire demon. "This wasn't supposed to be a kill one, get one free deal."

Hiei's head lolled to one side. Cursing silently, Kurama pressed two fingers against the big artery in Hiei's neck.

Nothing.

_So he did it_, thought Kurama. _Without fear for his own life, Hiei did it. Poured so much of himself into her that there is nothing left to call back_.

Or was there?

Quickly, Kurama mirrored Hiei's posture over the girl, straddling him. Both hands laced together, he raised them high, then slammed them into Hiei's sternum, hard enough to shock the powerful heart into beating again.

Hiei remained marble-pale and cold. The blood from his lip ceased flowing; so had the blood from his Blade-shredded hands.

_Not good, not good!_ Again Kurama struck the sternum, hard enough to crack bone. Again he checked the pulse in the icy neck.

Not even the faintest beat fluttered against his searching fingertips. "Hiei," he whispered. _Call the doctors_?

Code Blue; they had called a Code Blue just before. It is hospital talk for when a patient's heart stops beating, as Kurama had learned under Smith-sensei's tutelage. First the crash cart with its electric paddles to shock the heart back into beating. Then injections of adrenaline, directly into the heart.

They had waited too long, all of them.

His mind racing, Kurama tried to breathe life into the still form, counting, compressing the chest. Nothing. He tried again. No response.

_Hiei can't be gone. Not yet. Not if I have anything to say about it_.

Kurama recalled their first mission together as a team. The time when Yuusuke had defeated Suzaku, but at a cost that left the Spirit Detective's life hanging by a thread. Neither Kurama nor Hiei had been able to feed Yuusuke any of their demon energy, and the task had fallen to a barely-living Kuwabara.

_Hiei and I are both possessed of demon ki_, thought Kurama. _A transfer of life force where a crash cart would fail?_

If Hiei's soul was hovering near, there was a chance. Kurama could not sense such things as keenly as some, but there was no time to call in Kuwabara or Shizuru.

He pressed both hands to Hiei's chest, this time not for compression, but to summon all his power.

A lock of his red hair fell forward, brushing against Hiei's shoulder. As Kurama sent life force flying from his core outward, he watched his hair turn Youko silver, felt the tickling sensation of Youko's ears sprouting, the itch and stretch of his body as it grew in size from Minamino Shuuichi's form to Youko's.

Why was such a thing happening? No time to think.

Gathering up every scrap of his own and Youko's ki, Kurama hurled them both into Hiei.

No! This strange, unpleasant sensation! As if Kurama teetered on the verge of an endless, hungry void, down into which his own soul was being siphoned.

Enervated, weakened, he could not hold on. Kurama's eyelids fluttered. Just before his eyes closed altogether, he saw his silver hair turn again to the color of red maple leaves in dying autumn.

0-0-0-0-0

Cold. So cold.

He was lying on a block of ice. A metal slab.

_I must be dead_, Kurama thought; surely that was the reason for the depth of the chill. Kurama was so cold he was unable even to gather the energy to shiver.

"Well now," said a lilting voice, in English.

Kurama recognized the voice as Father Brian's, coming from a great distance and muffled by the ringing in his ears. He heard one or two footsteps, drawing closer.

That was odd. With his sutra still upon it, no one should have been able to open the door and enter the room.

Willing one eye open, Kurama looked around. He found himself lying on the floor, flat on his back, Hiei beside him. With a great effort, Kurama fumbled to reach Hiei, to discover if his gambit had worked, if Hiei still lived.

His searching hand could not quite reach the small form.

"And what have we here?"

Kurama pried another eye open, and looked up into the face of the priest.

Father Brian was kneeling over him, his gaze traveling from Kurama, to the bed, to Hiei.

"You two seem to have been up to something. I wonder do I want to know what."

Ignoring the protest from his aching neck muscles, Kurama turned his head, and levered himself into a seated position.

Hiei lay face-up, eyes closed, skin no longer marble-pale, the steady rise and fall of his chest revealing that he lived.

Relief robbed Kurama of strength. He slumped back to the floor.

Father Brian clucked his tongue and shook his head, gazing down at Hiei. "Can't leave this one on his own for a minute, the poor dumb bastard."

The priest was surprisingly strong. He gathered Hiei and easily lifted the unconscious demon onto the foot of the bed, then covered him.

With a great sigh, Father Brian turned toward Kurama. For some time, the priest studied him, still shaking his head and clucking. "That lad'll be all right. And I don't know what the two of you cooked up, but praise God the little colleen's sleepin' like a baby, her that was at death's door not an hour ago. An' speakin' of babies, the twins will need their mother soon. I'll see to it someone brings them in."

Then he knelt over Kurama, and just as easily as he had lifted Hiei, got him to his feet and into a chair.

Father Brian put a hand under Kurama's chin, turning the boy's face up to meet the hard black glitter of his own gaze. Then he got a penlight from his pocket, and flicked it into Kurama's eyes. He grunted in evident satisfaction.

"And you," he announced, settling a blanket around Kurama's shoulders, "you're not goin' anywhere either, you long-haired brigand."

Kurama's eyes drifted shut. After a while, he heard Father Brian reach the door, open it, and leave, but he was too exhausted even to whisper a word of thanks.

-30-

(To Be Continued: A shocking discovery!)


	16. FS C15: An Aftermath of Tea

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C15: An Aftermath of Tea

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Back home again, there are still troubles waiting ahead.

A/N: Again, thanks to everyone who's been reading this. I appreciate your reviews.

"Why did you do it? Why?"

Firebird Sweet C15: Birth, Death, Resurrection (part 3: An Aftermath of Tea)

by

Kenshin

When Hiei and Shay-san came home from the hospital the next day, it was Hiei who fell ill.

While his firebird and babies thrived, Hiei found himself weak, sick, fevered, with Yukina hovering about him (much to Kuwabara's unmitigated delight).

There was an unexplained ache, decorated by a big purple bruise, in the center of his chest. And those intricate white scars all over his hands were hardly standard issue.

Hiei tolerated Yukina's attempts to heal him for about two hours. When it became clear it was not working, over vociferous protests on the part of Kuwabara, he persuaded his sisterr to return to Genkai's temple.

What he did mostly was sleep.

A day passed. Three. A week, with very little change in his condition. He could not focus on the simplest tasks.

When Hiei had the energy, he wondered why Kurama was not also hovering over him.

Then, late one afternoon, Urameshi and Kuwabara took Hiei aside and informed him that Kurama had not returned to school.

When Hiei walked to the kitchen for some water, he noticed sharp pains in his left knee, the one he had injured during his battle with the Shifter, but chose to ignore them.

He hobbled back into the living room.

"Kurama's not in school," he repeated. Words seemed to take a long time to reach his ears, and longer still to reach his brain. He only caught a small portion of what the other boys were saying, but kept nodding as if he understood.

Urameshi left. Kuwabara went up to his room.

And Hiei fell asleep.

When Hiei awoke, it was late. He pondered what Urameshi and Kuwabara had told him.

Hiei had been sleeping downstairs on the couch, not wanting to take even the slim chance of reinfecting his firebird with whatever was making him ill. Now he donned a surgical mask and hauled himself upstairs, handrail by handrail. Even that small effort cost him. He had to lean heavily against the wall until his breath no longer came in gasps. Then he tapped at her door.

Shay-san looked all right. She looked herself again. Tired, but a far cry from the near-corpse she had become in the hospital; her glimmering gumdrop eyes were clear and hair framed her face like a halo of fire.

Hiei was still in a floating state of numbness---the image of Shay-san on her deathbed kept rising, like a nightmare through deep waters, yet here she stood, hale and more healthy than he.

She invited him in, but he remained in the doorway. In whispers, he told her how glad he was for her recovery.

"Why are you whispering?"

"The little ones. They're asleep."

"Don't whisper." Shaking her head, she spoke in normal tones. "I've made up my mind---they won't be fussy babies."

He craned his neck to gaze upon them, the boy and girl side-by side in some kind of stroller, hard asleep, a knot of fire-colored hair on Cecelia, a fluff of his own starburst hair on Michael.

Fraternal twins, like he and Yukina. Though it was safe to look at them, it wasn't the same as being able to hold them.

Hiei had worried that the babies would annoy him, enrage him with their endless needs, that he would in some way fail them as a father.

But from his first moment of contact, skin to skin, the electricity of their bond and a fierce, determined love had jolted through him like someone throwing a switch. He would protect them with his life. No force on earth or in the demon plane could break that vow.

He supposed this was his lot---protector. Taking care of his own. Even Kurama.

He tore his gaze from the twins and looked Shay-san in the eye. "What happened that night?" he asked.

She did not say, 'What night;' not the slightest flicker of confusion crossed her face. "I don't remember. No, wait---Father Brian came with the Anointing of the Sick. You were standing there."

"And then?"

Only at that point did the fine upslanting brows draw together in puzzlement. "Then it was morning and we checked out and came back here."

He turned into the hall as a painful coughing fit racked his lungs. When he could speak again he agreed. "That's all I remember, too. How do you explain the gap?"

She shrugged. "The doctor gave us sleeping pills?"

"Which I could not take, and which you would refuse."

Hiei felt as if he were dreaming. He was not standing there in a surgical mask; he was not looking at his own newborns; he was not calmly discussing the loss of a sizeable chunk of memory. He was somewhere else, under red skies that had no stars.

He blinked it away.

"Kurama hasn't been to school."

She gave a soft hiss. "Was he with us at the hospital?"

Hiei shut his eyes, one hand on the door. "Kuwabara and Yuusuke say he was. They say when you got sick, Kurama came." The term 'Heartblade' flashed into and out of his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it, and had to grab for the door. Then she was holding him by the shoulders, steadying him.

"I've got to see Kurama," Hiei rasped. "I don't remember what happened, you don't remember what happened. Kurama was there with us? Fine. Maybe he remembers. Maybe he remembers what caused _these_."

He held up his hands, showing her the filigree of scars on his palms and fingers.

Again she frowned. "I scratched your arm."

"Those scratches healed already." He put his arm out, showing her. "See?"

"You look as if you won't even make it out the door."

"I'll take a cab there and get into his window somehow."

"It's late. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"I have to know what happened."

She gave him a thoughtful, measuring stare. "So do I. Be careful, won't you?"

0-0-0-0-0

It was a good thing, Hiei reflected, that he had saved his strength riding in a cab.

He stood before the Minamino residence, gazing at Kurama's second-story window.

There was no way he could jump straight up there in his weakened condition. He considered knocking at the door, but the lights were out, and he didn't want to disturb Shiori.

Managing to shimmy up a tree next to the house, Hiei gauged the jump to the window. It was a jump he could make easily, eyes closed, not even breathing hard.

In his normal state.

He edged out as far as he dared along the largest branch, bunched his muscles, then flung himself at the window.

And slammed into glass, and fell.

Hooking his fingers onto the window ledge saved him from plummeting to the street, but a painful jolt ran all the way into his shoulder sockets.

"Kurama," he called.

Hiei braced his feet against the siding, and hitched himself level with the window. Clinging with one hand, he worked the fingers of the other through a tiny gap between window frame and slider, inched the window open, flung his right leg over the sill. For a second, he straddled the windowsill. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he almost fell back out.

Better floor than street, he told himself, and leaned in, and fell inside.

Unable to fully control his muscles, he had landed on Kurama's floor with a crash that should have woken the dead. It knocked the breath out of him. He lay on his back, gasping.

Trembling with the effort, he turned over and got his legs under him.

And all the while, Kurama sprawled on the bed, looking, and smelling, as if he hadn't changed clothes in a week. It not for the slight angling of Kurama's head and the glitter of green eyes as they shifted their gaze toward him, Hiei would have thought himself invisible.

"Kurama," he began.

Silence.

"I know you're awake. What happened that night?"

"What night." Kurama made no move.

"One minute Shay-san was dying and Father Brian was administering Last Rites. The next morning she's fine and we go home. I remember nothing in between, and neither does she."

Kurama lifted a hand as if to smooth the matted hair, let it flop back onto the bed. "It's too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Go back home, Hiei."

"I'm told you no longer go to school. Why?"

A breeze lifted the curtain. Outside, the faint sounds of traffic threaded by from another, busier street.

"She was dying. You used her Heartblade."

Hiei frowned, groping for the term. He recalled Kurama showing him a leaf, tiny as his smallest fingernail. "And?"

"I went in after you."

Hiei struggled to process those sentences. "After who?"

Kurama sighed. "Go home, Hiei. I skipped some school, that's all. I'm glad you're both all right. Go home."

"All right? This is what you call all right? I'm sick! Me, sick! So weak I can't get into your window! And if _you're_ all right why are you acting like a floor pillow?"

No response.

"I've never seen you this way. If I had the strength I would go over there and shake it out of you!" Hiei made an attempt to rise, but his legs refused to obey.

"Youko's gone." Kurama turned his face to the wall.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just as I said. Youko is gone."

Hiei refused to understand. "Where did he go?"

"I can't access him any more."

"The Fruit of Past Lives can---"

"Gone. As in forever."

"That's not possible."

"Go back to your wife and kids."

"But how did this happen?"

Kurama shifted slightly, faced Hiei again. "If you understood how much ki I had to pour into you..."

"Me? But it was _she_ who was dying."

Kurama looked at the ceiling. "You were gone."

"I left the room?" Hiei tried forming a picture in his head, failed. No, he couldn't have walked out on his firebird.

"Everyone hesitated too long. You didn't call me in time. You didn't grab the Heartblade until it was too late, you and your precious scruples. And when there was no room for hesitation..." In that soft, breathy contralto, Kurama related to Hiei exactly what had occurred from the moment he entered the hospital room until he had forced himself to leave, sometime after Father Brian picked him up off the floor.

And still Hiei refused to comprehend what it meant.

"She died," Kurama repeated. "You followed."

"Died? I just left her. She's fine."

"Go home."

"Not until you tell me the meaning of---"

"You weren't breathing. You had no pulse. I tried something on the physical plane to get your heart started. It failed. No crash cart could have saved you. If your soul had not been in reach, all the ki I had, all the ki Youko had, couldn't put Humpty together again."

Hiei narrowed his eyes at Kurama and tried to sense the familiar ki. "You---"

"I will say it one last time." Kurama shut his eyes. "And then I want you to leave. Maybe I knew what I was doing. Maybe I didn't, but by then I was in too deep. I sacrificed Youko to keep you alive. I am now nothing more than a normal human boy of 16, with no powers left. And I don't know how to feel about it."

A floorboard creaked. From somewhere came the sharp odor of car exhaust.

Hiei's fist thumped the floor, weakly. "You idiot!"

Kurama kept his eyes closed.

"Fool. Fool."

The room was cold. It made Hiei shiver, he who never cared about the weather one way or another. Something was stinging his eyes. With a snarl, he raised his fist and dashed away two teargems. They pattered to the floor and rolled like marbles. "Idiot," he repeated. "Fool."

The door opened. The light snapped on. Shiori stood there in a robe, blinking in puzzlement.

"Shuuichi?..." Her gaze lit upon Hiei, and she smiled, her long black hair framing the smooth oval of her face. "Oh! Hi-chan. I didn't hear you come in. What are you---"

Furiously, Hiei dashed away another teargem.

"What's wrong?"

At last, Kurama stirred. He lifted himself, spoke a warning to his mother. "Don't come into the room, Kaasan. Those things are like ball bearings." Getting off the bed, Kurama gathered the teargems.

But Shiori ignored the warning and knelt in front of Hiei, her face white with alarm. "Please, Hiei. Tell me Shay-san's all right. Tell me nothing happened to---"

"She's fine, Kaasan." Shiori's appearance forced Hiei to regain control. He cleared his throat. "Kids, too."

"I'm so glad." Face to face, she studied him.

"Kurama," Hiei said wearily. "Tell her."

Kurama opened his hand, plinked the teargems into a glass on his desk, sat again on the bed.

"Kurama, tell her!"

"Hush." Shiori rose, went to her son's bedside, ran a loving hand through the tangled hair. The sight almost unstrung Hiei again. "You don't have to tell me anything." Then she returned and knelt, facing Hiei.

Putting a finger under his chin, she tilted his face up to hers. "Oh, Hi-chan. What sort of boy has eyes like these?"

Hiei remained silent, but did not look away.

"What sort of boy catches his wife's childbed fever?"

He cast for an answer that was not a lie. "Many men get sympathetic labor pains."

"Indeed. My own husband was one such, bless his dear soul. But there's no such thing as sympathetic childbed fever."

"Hospitals are filled with germs."

Releasing Hiei's chin, she sat back, and smiled at him. "Perhaps. But tell me---what sort of boy weeps pearls?"

Hiei turned his face away. He thought of what he had said to Kuwabara, the night of the tango: _Just for one day, I was curious to see how it would feel to be a normal boy_.

And Kuwabara's answer: _Doesn't work that way, does it_?

"Kaasan." He shocked himself, saying it. "I'm not human."

"No." Her voice was gentle. "I don't suppose you are."

Her gaze was steady upon him. His bruised chest constricted.

When Hiei was able to breathe again, he tried to explain. He revealed nothing about Kurama, except that they had met some two years ago. If he was any judge at all, Shiori had already guessed most of the facts.

She listened, her face unreadable.

Struggling and failing to get to his feet, Hiei murmured, "I've imposed enough."

Kaasan rose. "Shuuichi," she said, in that I'll-have-no-nonsense voice. "Help me get Hiei into a chair."

"I can stand!" Hiei struggled to one knee, then fell back.

"He's heavier than you might think." Kurama got out of bed, and, with Kaasan's help, managed to get Hiei seated. In spite of Hiei's protests, Kaasan draped an arm around him.

"Half-demon children!" Shiori marvelled. "No wonder poor Shay-san fell so ill."

He could not escape without hurting Kaasan. "That's why I came tonight. To find out why she's still alive."

"What a thing to say!"

"And I have my answer." There was something unnerving about Shiori's soft arm with its scarred hand around his shoulder, something equally unnerving about Kurama's passivity. The Kurama Hiei knew would have been glaring daggers at him. "I won't trouble you again."

He tried to inch his shoulder away from her arm. "Don't," he whispered. He didn't like this, didn't like it at all, the way uncontrollable lightnings were flashing though his chest, the way it made him think of his firebird, a mother now like Shiori, but gray and gasping, Father Brian giving her Last Rites, of all the stupid, petty squabbles he had picked with her.

"Please," he said. "Let me go." He clenched both hands into fists. Kurama said nothing, did nothing.

"Poor little Hi-chan." Shiori laid her head alongside his. "But your wife is safe now."

_I am a powerful demon, so strong my people had to fling me away. I have killed many enemies and I will kill again if my family is threatened. I do not cry_.

He had never before wept openly, not counting the two reluctant teargems Father Brian had wrenched from him upon their first encounter.

Not when the Kourime flung him off the tip of their floating world. Not when his own firebird lay a hearbeat from death.

"I have to go."

"Not until I've made you some tea."

"Tea." Hiei's fingers twitched. "Is that all you think of, tea?" He managed to pull away from Shiori at last.

"Tea," he snorted. "This is your solution to life's problems? Hiei shows up on your doorstep carrying a half-drowned girl. Let's make tea! This same girl later sits in your kitchen fielding threats from your son. Tea! This is the best you can do? Your son gave up his---"

He broke off, unable to finish the thought. Kurama lay on the bed, soundless, and Shiori kept her own tear-glistened eyes upon Hiei.

In a single night Hiei had gained a son and a daughter, and lost part of a close friend, and nearly lost his woman.

Of everything, he could not stand that last thought.

"Tea." Hiei couldn't help himself. He began to laugh. He threw back his head, with the pallid Kurama looking on. He laughed until his ribs ached and the bruise in the center of his chest burned. "Tea," he sputtered, "Of all the stupid, outlandish, useless---"

And then Shiori's arms were around him and he buried his face in her neck, teargems pattering to the floor.

"Kaasan," he gasped. "I can't stop. I can't stop! What's wrong with me?"

-30-

(To Be Continued: A visit and a request)


	17. FS C16: A Visit From Kaasan

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C16: A Visit From Kaasan

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The enemy has suffered a setback, but what about Hiei?

'Is _she_ a demon, too?'

Firebird Sweet C16: Birth, Death, Resurrection (part Four: A Visit From Kaasan)

by

Kenshin

Carlos was required to stay close to headquarters, and it was taking its toll on him; he found himself turning more and more to food as a tranquilizer, and had gone a bit doughy about the middle.

This, he told himself, would not do. Especially not now.

The little broken-nosed jaki, with its rufous tuft of Mohawk hair, had delivered the stunning news with an air of triumph---and then skittered out the door, before the Boss could so much as take the info in.

That had been days ago.

Immediately upon digesting the intel, the Boss had retired to the office, shutting the door behind him. But the raw stench of the Makai version of sake he drank had filled the air.

Carlos had wondered when it would run out.

The redshirts were playing cards now, but nervously, not concentrating on the game. Perhaps a few recalled being hung over after their night of premature celebration, when they had been so certain the fire-haired girl was dead.

But the plan had backfired.

Little Gray Oni and Shifter kept looking up from their card game to meet Carlos' eye.

"It's not the worst news in the world," said Little Gray.

"Shut up, you," muttered Shifter, his grayish skin pale against the bristly dark of his hair. "You weren't the one supposed to keep the target from using the effin' Heartblade."

The purple oni, biggest of all, most brutal, smirked at Shifter. "The Boss won't like this," he said, in his surprisingly little voice.

"I had him! I know I did! I saw it in his eyes---the target was scared witless!" Flinging down his cards, Shifter retreated to sulk amongst the packing crates.

"Better check out the Boss," said Carlos, jerking his thumb at two of the oni.

"Whatever you say, Chief," Olive mumbled, a big fellow with greenish-brown skin and a slightly dull-eyed look. He put down his cards, more carefully than Shifter, then lumbered with Carlos to the office door.

Red, a slightly smaller version of Purple, but every bit as brutal, followed in silence.

Olive tapped on the office door and swung it open. Red wasn't far behind, but Carlos stayed back, eyeing the Boss.

The Boss looked terrible. Puffy-eyed, unfocused, sake stains down the front of his sleeveless tunic, he slumped at the desk. Empty bottles littered on floor. Swaying in his seat, the demon lord blinked up at them. "Whaajawant?" he slurred.

"Listen, Boss," Olive began, in an unctuous voice, "It's not so bad."

The Boss' black eyes remained unfocused. "Whaayamean?"

"At least Youko's gone," the oni explained.

"Yeah," chimed Red, gleefully cracking his knuckles. "Bagging that nasty fox-spirit was an unexpected benefit."

"He wasn't the target! Not yet!" With a muffled roar, the Boss raised one hand. His vertical third eye opened, glowed orange. A sheet of flame billowed from his clawed fingers.

But he was slow. Too slow. Even big clumsy Olive dodged the flames with ease, and fled. Carlos stepped back to let Olive pass; Red had already beaten him to the card table in his haste to get away.

Carlos did not immediately flee. Not that the thought didn't cross his mind, but he was out of the line of fire, and his new responsibilities as a true second-in-command weighed heavily on him. What was wrong with the Boss?

A curl of black smoke rose from the demon's clenched fist. Then the Boss muttered in a hoarse voice, sounding fevered and ill. The room stank of sulfur. Even the air was stifling.

Carlos inched forward. "Boss? You okay?"

The self-styled demon king groaned, his head dropping onto his folded arms.

Calling softly again, Carlos dared approach even closer. The Boss was radiating heat; shimmered with it.

Foul-smelling beads of sweat oozed up from every inch of the demon's bare skin---forearms, shoulders, neck. Carlos wondered whether the Boss had taken something from his own much-heralded cache of arcane poisons.

Then the Boss looked up. His flat black eyes held a fleeting glimpse of clarity.

"She had to die," he said. "Only fair."

Only fair? What was that supposed to mean? The girl's failure to cooperate and die might have been a setback, Carlos reflected, but this was a hell of a way to react.

However, he would give no empty assurances. Shutting the office door on the Boss, Carlos returned to the card game.

"Shifter just bolted," reported Red. "Won't see him again."

"Never mind," said Little Gray. "That eye of the Boss' might be able to bring him back."

"Not likely," said Carlos. "He's not just drunk. He's sick. And I have no idea what to do." Then he filled them in on what had transpired in the office. In truth, he was worried.

All the oni looked at one another, murmuring, but it was Little Gray who got to his feet, a look of grave concern shadowing his thick features. "Someone fetch the water sprites," he said.

0-0-0-0-0

He had dreamed of the stranger again.

The stranger faced Hiei across the frozen wasteland of the Kourime, as before: his billowing black hair and startling aquamarine eyes shining through the blinding white of the storm. Far in the distance was the shuttered roar of a helicopter.

But this time, instead of pushing Hiei overboard, the stranger had offered him a glowing sword.

0-0-0-0-0

After his humiliating and disgraceful lapse---and also much to Hiei's surprise---Kaasan came to visit the following afternoon. They sat in the Kuwabara living room, both twins awake and lively, Shiori with Cecilia on the couch, Shay-san in the chair across from them with Michael.

"It's been so long since I've held a baby," Shiori said, Hiei's daughter in her arms. Cecilia waved her own arms and crowed in glee. "These aren't like any newborns I've ever seen!" she added, while Shay-san beamed with pride. "Look! They can focus on what I'm doing! And she's smiling at me!"

"She smiles at everyone." Hiei thought, _This must have been what my firebird was like before the loss of her parents._

_And Michael---no. I was never that calm. And there's no rage in him_.

"She seems quite advanced."

"They both are," agreed Hiei, exchanging glances with Shay-san, and with Michael in her lap; the boy was already able to follow moving objects, not only with his eyes, but by turning his head, unheard of in a week-old human infant---and there was recognition in him.

Cecilia found every new voice and face provided a reason to wave her arms, which had earned her the nickname of Starfish. "Good thing I was already calling her that," said Shay-san.

_Michael. I can't fail you. I won't fail you_.

Hiei's connection with his son was immediate, fathomless.

('Why would anyone throw away an infant?" Hiei had murmured to Shay-san, the first time he had been allowed to hold one of them following their return from the hospital.

'Wait until they start screaming at 3 AM,' she'd replied, in her I'm-not-getting-enough-sleep voice.)

But Hiei knew Shay-san would never do to her own children what had been done to him. She would die first.

_No, not die_, Hiei corrected---_that one would find a way. She would flee, and take the children with her to safety_.

Shiori was saying something to him about the twins. Hiei shook himself out of his near-trance.

"Feeding time." Shay-san rose, neatly tucking Michael, aka Prince Jellybean, into the stroller, then repeating the act with CeeCee, aka Princess Starfish.

Hiei watched them go up the stairs with a little tug of regret; but then he turned to Shiori. He was certain she hadn't just stopped by to coo at the twins.

"They're wonderful, Hi-chan," Shiori said. "They're you! The both of you! Right down to the hair."

"Most people don't even notice. You did." Yesterday, at the Minamino residence, with Shiori coaxing far too many tears from him---Hiei had been woefully ashamed at first, but after his outburst, had actually felt better. Drained, but better.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a mother.

"Shuuichi was quite advanced as an infant, too. I used to think he was a prodigy."

"I don't always blubber like that," Hiei blurted. "In fact, I never do."

Shiori kept her gaze upon the stairs. "Shuuichi---I love him dearly, but there's no denying he's a handful."

Hiei's mouth twitched: _My sentiments exactly_.

"Shuuichi has always been popular. But of a certain..." She seemed to be groping for words. "Your friend Kazuma," she went on, "the big one with orange hair, he's got his..."

"Gang," supplied Hiei, helpfully.

She smiled. "His _friends_, all around him. And of course, Yuusuke has Keiko. Shuuichi, though, it's a different story. Yes, there were girls who would follow him home and hang giggling in the street, and he was always polite. But distant. And classmates who call, begging him to join their clubs. Close friends? No. Not until Yuusuke showed up. And then you, and I knew straight away you and he had a long history."

"Not that long. Maybe a year and a bit, back then."

"But you took to one another right away."

"In a sense." During their first year of acquaintance, the fox-boy hinted (by means of a subtle, offhand word or two) what a relief it was, not having to hide his true youkai nature.

"Then tell me one thing, please."

"If I can."

"That day. That day when you came to the house looking as if you had been chewed up by wild animals. I know you weren't trapped in any meat locker. At times my son is a remarkably bad liar. What happened to put you and Shay-san in such a state?"

Hiei thought a moment, then nodded. "I don't mind telling you. Since it does not involve Ku---I mean, Shuuichi. I stole a plane and parked it on a jetliner headed for Japan."

"So..." She gave him a bewildered look. "You're a pilot?"

"No," he laughed. "But I watched someone fly a plane for a couple of hours."

"Fast learner." Shiori raised an eyebrow in a gesture very reminiscent of Kurama.

"I thought that when I caught sight of land, I could take the plane off the jetliner, then put it down in a secluded spot so no one would see it.

"Only the jetliner wasn't going to Japan. It was heading to Australia. It ran out of fuel, and went down in the Pacific." He took a breath. "I carried her the rest of the way."

Shiori's eyes widened. "You can fly?" she gasped. "I mean, without a plane?"

"No. What I can do is rebound. If you hit the surface of the water just right, a solid object can skip off it."

She put a hand to her cheek. "Oh, my!"

"By all rights, we shouldn't have made it. But I kept---finding things to rebound from, not just water. A pod of whales surfaced. Once or twice, a passing ship. An island. I still to this day can't explain it."

"No wonder you looked as you did! If I had known!"

"What more would you have done? You gave us shelter and food, even washed our clothing."

"Oh, my," she repeated. "But, such a man as yourself---"

"Not a man. Demon."

She thought about that for a minute. "Man," she repeated. "My son has stopped going to school. All his classmates ask about him. I have actually caught myself wondering, 'Do I tell them he's a demon? One who's lost his powers?'"

"It's unwise to broadcast such things."

Shiori looked at him a bit helplessly. "He _is_ a demon, isn't he?"

Hiei let out a sigh of frustration.

"Can you tell me anything? Did he have powers like yours? And if he lost them does this make him vulnerable?"

_What can I tell her indeed? I don't want to scare her_. "You'd better ask Ku---I mean, Shuuichi."

"Do you---did you---know this Youko character?"

"Knew his reputation. Saw him once."

"And is there anything you can tell me of that one?"

It was late afternoon. Shadow and sun flicked across the living room floor.

At last Hiei replied, "Very powerful, very cunning. Much admired, yet feared in Makai. I would not want my wife and children in the same room with him."

"Your wife---that is, Shay-san---she---" Shiori broke off, coloring. "She's human?"

"She's American. They only seem like demons."

Shiori twisted her hands in her lap. "For sixteen years, I have coaxed him and coddled him and scolded him and bullied him, and I think Shuuichi came out all right. And it's now, when he needs me the most, that I can't reach him. I have tried all those approaches. But nothing makes an impact."

"He always listens to you."

Shiori shook her head. "Yuusuke and Kazuma have been to see him too, but he pays no more attention to them than to me."

"I---" Hiei looked down.

"You've been ill," Shiori said. "Anyone can see that." Then she got up. "I have always known there was something different about Shuuichi, and now I know what. It's still hard to grasp that the part that made him different is gone. He seems---lost."

Hiei said nothing. Kurama was tougher than anyone knew, and would never lapse into self-pity, but---

Shiori broke into his thoughts. "If it saved your life and hers, I can't regret what my son did." A ghost of a smile played across the sweet face. "I hope I can see the little ones again."

Hiei saw her out, and long after she had gone, he stayed, forehead pressed to the door.

He would have to be blind not to realize it, and blinded he must have been, for the fox-boy's dilemma had not been foremost on his mind. Still a bit shaky, his strength was even now returning, though his relentless and unwavering ability to focus was failing him.

What could be done for Kurama? Could anyone recover a lost soul?

But as he turned from the door and made his way to the stairs, Hiei thought, _I have to try. He was my first friend_.

-30-

(To Be Continued: Drill Sargent Kidd, front and center!)


	18. FS C17: Intervention

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C17: Intervention

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Time for the group to get back to work!

A/N: I get the sneaking suspicion Blu-chan may enjoy this chapter. As always, thanks for reading. I appreciate your reviews!

Will Kurama ever be the same?

Firebird Sweet C17: Birth, Death, Resurrection (part Five:Intervention)

by

Kenshin

Shayla Kidd had died.

She was positive on that count. Although her memory of what followed her death was shaky, what led up to it was not: dear Father Brian's glistening black eyes as he administered Last Rites; Hiei standing frozen when she took her final breath hoping he would be all right.

She was also positive that her fire demon and the fox-boy had cooked up something which yanked her back from that long white tunnel, at the end of which she sensed both her parents, waiting.

Whatever it was, it worked. Two weeks had passed since their return from Mercy Hospital, and perhaps this desperate act on Hiei's part explained why he was taking so long to recover, while (much to her own surprise) Shayla rebounded quickly.

Sure, there was a peculiar rash on her left arm that did not itch. And she tired easily, but shrugged it off, attributing it to the fact that babies required care and feeding round the clock and sleep was now a precious commodity, one she very much missed.

_At least_, she thought, _I'm alive to miss it. And at least, the cards that come in to the agency that handles our bookings are Get-Well cards, not Sympathy cards_.

There could be no question of Hiei returning to work with the band yet, or dancing. At the moment, neither could she.

As for Kurama, he was not answering calls, which worried her. But Romantic Soldier still had its fans, and hardly a day passed when the agency didn't call with an offer.

So there was a certain sense of inevitability when Yuusuke and Kuwabara marched into the familiar safety of the living room and announced they were playing a gig that very night.

"Be good to hear applause again." Yuusuke grinned down at the twins, sleeping in their stroller. "Anyway my mom says someone's gotta keep this band alive until I'm old enough to start doing ads for sake."

"Yeah. With Shizuru it's cigarette endorsements." Kuwabara rolled his eyes. "Let _her_ get famous if that's what she wants."

Although it hardly seemed fair to accept bookings for Romantic Soldier with only two of its four members---Shayla did not really count herself---she asked, "Where are you playing?"

"Some scabby little club near the Power Win Win Pachinko Parlor." Yuusuke happily dug into his pocket for a wrinkled yellow flyer. "It's called Moda. Early booking, around 6 PM."

"Beggars can't be choosers," murmured Hiei.

"And don't worry." Kuwabara jerked his head toward Hiei. "With Kuwabara the man there they won't even notice the runt's missing."

It was a measure of Hiei's condition that he didn't rise to the bait.

0-0-0-0-0

Nine o'clock inched toward them, with Shayla Kidd and Hiei home, waiting.

And waiting. The television droned the news. A snack tray was in the kitchen. CeeCee was in her lap, Michael in Hiei's. "What's taking so long?" she snapped.

"Probably signing autographs," Hiei purred to Michael. "And Kuwabara keeps forgetting how to spell his name."

CeeCee laughed; Shayla tickled the infant's soft round chin. "Who's my good little Princess Starfish? You are, aren't you." But she kept glancing at the clock.

"I hear footsteps," announced Hiei. Michael turned his head toward the door.

The door opened. Kuwabara and Yuusuke sloped in. Shayla nestled CeeCee into the stroller, then brought refreshments.

The two boys crashed to the sofa. Yuusuke seemed almost angry; Kuwabara drained.

"Well?" Hiei inquired, settling Michael next to CeeCee.

"Good thing Botan and Keiko were there." Yuusuke scraped his hair back with both hands, then let his head hang limp.

"Good thing my sister wasn't," added Kuwabara.

"What do you mean?" Shayla took a bracing gulp of coffee.

"It was a nightmare," intoned Yuusuke.

"Technical problems?" Hiei pushed a can of soda at Yuusuke and then tossed one to Kuwabara. "The mic went out? A light fell on your head?"

Yuusuke squinted at the can. "This better be beer."

"You wish." Hiei perched cross-legged on the sofa; Michael looked from his father to Yuusuke as though he understood each word.

"A light falling on my head would hurt less." Yuusuke took a long gulp of soda. "Everyone was screaming, 'We want Shuuichi! We want Hiei!'"

Kuwabara shivered. "I'd rather face Elder Toguro again."

"Someone threw a metal tray at us!" interrupted Yuusuke indignantly.

"Kurama---" began Hiei, then stopped himself.

Kurama.

Where on earth was that boy? "Usually if I threaten to sing Kurama's part, that's all it takes." Shayla reached forward and opened Kuwabara's soda for him. "He practically runs me over to get onstage."

"Not any more," muttered Hiei. Hearing the odd note in his voice, Shayla flicked him a sidelong glance. Hiei had outlined what had happened to Kurama, but surely the fox-boy would be back on his feet by now.

"This is just plain wrong." Kuwabara took a sip of soda, pulled a face, then put the can back down. "Kurama can't lie around the house staring at the ceiling forever."

"The band can perform without me," stated Hiei. "All I do is stand back and glower anyway, but Kurama's the front man."

And that was when she saw the haunted shadow that slid across Hiei's eyes, and it came to her in an icy rush that Kurama was in far, far worse shape than she had allowed herself to believe.

Yes, she had been ill herself, and wrapped up in motherhood, but that was no excuse.

She made a decision. "It ends tonight. Besides, that's twice I owe Kurama my life."

Hiei turned to glare a warning, opening his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"No!" She shot to her feet. "I don't care about that _youkai_ nonsense! Kurama's not a demon any more, and I'm not a demon to begin with, and this isn't Makai. I'm American, and when someone saves us, we show our gratitude, especially if he's a friend!"

She stopped. The silence stretched.

Then, Hiei snorted. "I was just going to say you'd better take a jacket."

"Uh. Well. Maybe a sweater." Flushing, Shayla fumbled around the room, snatching up diaper bags, sweaters, baby blankets, anything she could lay hands on. "Who's with me?"

"Everyone." Hiei flashed a look around at Kuwabara and Yuusuke, who gave no argument.

"Call a cab," she advised. "I'm not walking all the way to Kaasan's this time of night trailing newborns and Romantic Soldiers."

0-0-0-0-0

"Intervention?" Shiori looked up from where she had been kneeling in front of the stroller, cooing at the twins.

Shayla nodded. "That's how we do it in America."

It was about ten o'clock at night, the weather oddly warm for late November. The stroller occupied center stage in the Minamino living room, with Shiori and Hiei on the floor to either side, Yuusuke and Kuwabara standing in back as if on guard.

Shiori glanced anxiously from one face to the next. "What will you do?"

"One way or another, get your son on his feet." _For someone who sounds like she knows what she's doing_, Shayla pondered, _You're sweating an awful lot, and it ain't the weather_.

_Still, you've been through this before, with Ronni. You know the drill. Drugs or depression, it's all the same_.

"So how does this go?" Kuwabara took a sip of tea and pulled another face; apparently, after the debacle at Moda, nothing was to his liking.

"I deal with Kurama until he's down here and functioning. And if that doesn't work, it's hospital time." Her stomach gave a little flutter as she hesitated in the hallway.

"If you don't come back we'll send a search party," called Yuusuke, stealing Kuwabara's tea.

Shayla stalled at the bottom of the stairs. "Uhhh," she began, darting looks at the grouping in the living room.

"What's wrong?" Kuwabara furrowed his brow.

"Well." She cleared her throat. "You know, the kids."

"We've got them," Hiei assured her, making minute adjustments to the blankets covering Michael and CeeCee.

"Yeah." Yuusuke snorted a laugh. "Not like Hiei's gonna drop them on their heads or anything."

"You can _do_ that with kids?" Hiei deadpanned.

"Oh, great. Okay. Fine. If that's the way you want to play it." She took a breath, her mouth dry, her heart thundering. "Make way for Drill Sergeant Shayla Kidd." Glancing nervously up the stairs, she asked, "You'll hear me if I scream, right?"

"Oh, dear." Shiori put her hands to her face.

"Of course." Hiei raised a cool eyebrow at her. "As I recall, you have a very powerful scream."

"Ha-ha," she muttered. "Wish me luck at least."

Hiei grinned at her. "I think it's that Minamino kid who will need it."

"We got your back." Yuusuke winked. Kuwabara gave her the thumbs-up. Shiori's smile was a bit trembly.

Biting her lip, Shayla slunk upstairs, stealthily, the better to take her target unaware.

_There you go_, she urged herself. _That's it, right down the hall. Kurama's door. The light's on. Bet it's not even locked. What are you waiting for---an armed escort_?

With a little rush, she crashed into his room. Kurama lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

What she saw made her stop and draw a sharp breath.

In the glare of the reading lamp, his face was drawn; he had become visibly thinner in limbs and torso as well. The long red hair splayed on the pillow like blood from a fatal wound.

A big part of her wanted to gather him up in her arms and promise everything would be all right.

Except that approach would not work. Especially not on this former demon.

She and Hiei were alive because of his sacrifice. She wanted to bathe him in gratitude. But that was what _she_ wanted.

Not what Kurama needed.

"Okay, Kurama, enough is enough." She strode to the window, flung it open. "Phew. And you Japanese say Americans stink."

He barely flicked a glance her way.

"Step number one." With a silent prayer, she went to his bed, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him to his feet, shocked by the lightness of him. "You're taking a shower."

He pulled away and sank back onto the bed. "No."

"Fine. Then I'll strip you down here and sponge-bathe you."

At last, a response. The head snapped up, the nostrils flared, the eyes flashed. "How dare you?"

She crossed her arms. "Always wanted to see what a fox-spirit looks like."

"You can't be---" He goggled at her. "Aren't you even worried about---"

"Hiei? He's too weak at the moment to kill both of us. Maybe he'll just kill me. Or maybe he'll kill you. He might be doing you a favor. Doesn't seem like you want to live any more."

Kurama turned his face from her. "Maybe I don't."

"Tough," she said, pushing him flat and unzipping his dirty jeans. "I have other plans."

"Stop that!" He batted her hands away, frantically adjusting his zipper. "I can't believe you would---!"

"Nothing you've got I haven't seen before," she said coolly. "Choose. Take a shower and come back clean or I sponge-bathe you here and now."

He flung her a venomous look. "I pity your children." But he got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom.

She heard the water run, and blew out a long sigh, wiping damp palms against her slacks.

Here, in Kurama's bedroom, she waited for him to finish cleaning himself. Here, where he had explained why the Heartblade was necessary, where he had not only installed and removed it, but guarded it for the day when it would be needed.

_All that, because Kurama had powers and used them. _

_What would it be like to lose part of yourself? What if I couldn't use my Spellcasting any more?_

_No. That's different. I first came to it as an adult. Or I was first made aware of it as an adult, when Genkai taught me. Kurama's had his abilities all his life. How can I help get him out of this if I can't understand it_?

Downstairs, she heard CeeCee's little squeak, then everyone's laughter. The girl must have done something cute. _Wish I was there to see it_, she thought. _But she'll do something cute again, and I will be there. And so will her father. _

_Thanks to Kurama_.

Kurama returned, clad in a terrycloth robe, hair clean and wet, and installed himself on the bed again.

"Oh, no you don't," she said. "In case you hadn't noticed, there is still an entity known as Romantic Soldier that requires your presence."

"Stop pretending you understand!"

She winced a little; he was right.

"Part of me is dead. Any powers I once had are gone." Kurama looked down. "And I don't know how to feel about it."

_Want tougher? I can play that too_. "Screw your precious feelings. You're coming downstairs with me."

He shook his head.

"Fine." She turned to his closet, ripping a shirt from the hanger, flinging it at him. "I'm as good at putting them on as I am at taking them off."

"Hey!" He gathered up the shirt, smoothing out the creases.

Snatching the shirt from Kurama's grasp, she tugged at the tie of his robe.

"Don't!" He stopped her, a hand closing on her wrist. "And not that shirt."

"Then come down in the robe. See if I care. Either way, you're coming."

"I don't think you can make me."

"Maybe not, but Yuusuke and Kuwabara and Hiei can."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me. Stronger demons have, and lived to regret it."

"I'm not even a demon any more."

"Then I should have no trouble handling you."

"Okay, okay, okay! Just... turn your back."

"Fine." She folded her arms, turned. "You have thirty seconds to pick another shirt and get into it. Pants are optional but if you want them you'd better hustle."

She heard bedsprings creak. Then rustling and finicking.

Time to play her trump card.

"Your mother is worried, Kurama," she said softly. "Does this mean nothing to you? Or are you such a self-absorbed brat that you don't realize Shiori's lost weight, too?"

Kurama caught his breath.

"I thought you loved your mother. That she was your one constant in this life."

She heard his sigh. "You do realize I'm now defenseless? Even you should be able to understand that."

"And even you should be able to understand that Kurama has a reputation. Reach into your hair and lesser demons will flee."

"Eventually they'll realize I've got nothing in there."

"Then stick a shiv in your locks and learn how to use it. Or take a page from Hiei's book. 'You're not worth my blade,' he says. Right before he kills them with his bare hands."

She heard his snort of derision. "For however long that will work. And assuming no one's trumpeted the news."

"The only people who know about your condition are in this house. Do you honestly think one of us would spill it? Would your mother? Would Hiei? Want my assurances as well?"

"No," he mumbled.

"You're a martial artist. I saw some of the Dark Tournament highlights and I saw your moves against Karasu. Work on those skills. And use that brain of yours. I hear it's top-notch, though I haven't seen any evidence of it lately."

"What will I tell people in school?"

"That you've been sick."

"For a Catholic you come up with some awfully good lies."

"That's no lie. Any boy of your caliber who takes to flopping in bed all day is not well."

"You can turn around now."

She did so, studying him. He was wearing loose-fitting white slacks and a nubby yellow polo shirt which covered his too-thin arms.

"Great," she said, marching toward the door.

But he caught at her wrist as she passed. His head hung forward, the damp hair covering his face.

"Shay-san," he mumbled.

Some note in his voice brought her to full alert.

He did not lift his head. "Shay-san." The soft, breathy contralto was barely audible. "I can't regret my actions. You're alive and so is Hiei. But ..."

Kurama raised his head; the damp hair fell back. His eyes were stricken. "What do you pray," he whispered, "when you don't know what to pray for?"

She led him to the bed and sat with him and finger-combed his hair. He let her fuss with it, until the heavy russet mass was at least a semblance of its former glory.

"Grace." Sighing, she smoothed back his bangs. "You pray for grace."

He held both hands to his face, studying them, then let them fall back into his lap. "I don't know."

Downstairs, CeeCee crowed again. Kuwabara laughed.

She got up and helped Kurama to his feet. "Then come downstairs with me. Time to see what your sacrifice was for."

-30-

(To Be Continued: There's a new twist in the works!)


	19. FS C18: Dragon of Smoke

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C18: Dragon of Smoke

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Something's bizarrely wrong---what could have caused it?

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I appreciate it!

Kurama still knows his stuff.

Firebird Sweet C18: Dragon of Smoke

by

Kenshin

Shayla Kidd could not put off the inevitable another moment.

The rash on her arm which had developed after her return from the hospital did not itch. But now, as she stepped from the shower, and saw what it was doing, a gut-wrenching fear twisted through her.

She had questioned her own fitness as a mother. Now she questioned her fitness as a human being.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei was still not back at full strength.

That much Kurama was able to surmise by the way the fire demon moved---or in this case, didn't. Hiei sat with his back against a massive, spreading pine tree, munching rice crackers, the sound faint but distinct in this secluded sector of the park.

Neither was Kurama back at full strength, but still a bit underweight, his muscles not yet returning to their former whipcord power.

There was a heaviness in the air that transferred itself to his limbs, a pleasant, sleepy languor effecting even the normally-ebullient Urameshi Yuusuke.

Kurama was adjusting to life without Youko, managing to dress and go to school. He was grateful to Shay-san and her commando-style intervention for that much, at least.

Still. Sometimes he felt as though a yawning pit had opened beneath his feet, and the smallest mis-step would send him tumbling into the abyss of despair. Other times---such as today---he felt cautiously optimistic, ready to face anything.

Maybe it was the weather.

For early December, Youyougi Kouen seemed like May. Even the trees were confused; some of the deciduous species were budding out, and the weather was a topic in the news.

Just now, lounging with the others, Kurama felt too lazy and content to care.

Kuwabara was absent, no doubt with Yukina again. If Hiei objected to that arrangement, he gave no indication. He sat close to Kurama, as though trying to protect him from an event that had already taken place. Yuusuke sat a little bit apart, enthusiastically ragging everyone.

"Ain't we supposed to be sparring?" Yuusuke demanded.

"Too tired," murmured Hiei.

"And I'm just an ordinary boy now," Kurama reminded them.

Yuusuke yawned. A bird flicked to a nearby branch and sang at them: _chibi-chibi-chibi_.

"Oi," said Yuusuke. "Even the birds are insulting Hiei."

Hiei snorted and settled a little lower against the trunk.

"I'll get up and throw a few punches in a minute," yawned the Spirit Detective.

"At what?" yawned Hiei in return.

"How about Green Eyeball Guy Hiei?" Yuusuke suggested. "How about if I go ten rounds with him?"

"How about you grab some quiet time?"

"Why? Can't you use him any more?"

"Not now I can't. Too weak."

Kurama thought it unwise to speak openly of such things, but it was too great an effort to mention.

Yuusuke shifted position. "Hey." The Spirit Detective's voice was bright with gleeful interest. "Y'mean I could beat you up now, one-on-one?"

"Yuusuke." Hiei's soft lazy purr came from close to Kurama's ear. "Tinkerbell could beat me up now."

Kurama gave a little bark of a laugh.

"With one exception," continued Hiei. "Anyone who threatens my kids is dead."

"Whoa," said Yuusuke. "Who said I was threatening anyone?"

The 'chibi'-bird gave one last razz, then fluttered away. The rhythm of Hiei's breathing slowed. _He's putting me to sleep_, Kurama thought, his eyes drifting shut. _Not such a bad idea_.

"Oi," said Yuusuke.

Hiei murmured, "Shut up."

"Oi!" repeated Yuusuke. "Guys, we got company."

"Mnf." With some reluctance, Kurama opened his eyes.

A little gray jaki crouched at Hiei's feet, about the size of a squirrel, and with a prehensile tail, though the tail lacked a squirrel's luxuriant plume. "Candy," it implored.

"Whadda we look like?" muttered Yuusuke. "The lunch wagon?"

Kurama shifted into a state of alertness. The little human-figured _youkai_ shrank back, darting its liquid black glance from Yuusuke to Kurama to Hiei. It had a tuft of rufous fur between its ears, and its nose had been broken, with a peculiar right-hand twist. "Shoo." Kurama waved a threatening hand.

The jaki scuttled back, but did not flee.

"Wait, little brother." Hiei dug into a pocket.

Kurama gave a disdainful sniff. "I sincerely hope you're reaching for your phone to call an exterminator."

"Make that a double," said Yuusuke.

"They're vermin," Kurama agreed. "Get rid of it."

"This vermin belongs to Shay-san." Hiei extracted the packet of rice crackers from his pocket and tossed a cracker to the jaki. "Harm it, and you will make her very unhappy."

"A pet?" scoffed Yuusuke. "She got a jaki for a pet?"

Crunching on its cracker, the jaki began, "That lady."

Hiei's grin faded. "What about her?"

"Saw her." The jaki held out its hand for another cracker.

Hiei gave it the whole bag. "When? Where?"

"Just now." It poked its broken nose into the open bag. "In her room."

"You dared to go in the house?" Kurama snapped.

"The tree in the yard." The jaki extracted a round orange cracker. "You can look inside from there."

"What about the lady?" Yuusuke pressed.

"She was shaking."

"Why?" Hiei was on his feet now.

"Scared."

All traces of languor gone, Kurama exchanged uneasy glances with Yuusuke. "It doesn't know what it's talkin' about." Yuusuke tried to reassure Hiei.

The jaki slanted a look up at them. "Maybe not, but I know scared when I see it." It selected another cracker. "So scared she put her cubs away."

Hiei may have been depleted, but he still had enough energy to disappear in a blur, leaving Kurama and Yuusuke to follow.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei landed in the tree outside the window of their room at the Kuwabara residence. The jaki was right---you could see in from there, of course. But Shay-san wasn't in the room, and neither were the kids.

The jaki had said Shay-san had 'put the cubs away.' _No_, he thought, _she would never----not my firebird---_

Flicking inside the open window, Hiei searched the upstairs until he reached the still-steaming bathroom.

In the corner farthest from the tub, Michael and CeeCee lay in the stroller, unharmed. Letting out a sigh of relief, Hiei knelt close to them. "Hey, guys, what are you doing here?" They did not appear unduly upset; CeeCee 'explained' in her gurgling babble, while Michael watched with interest.

Hiei rose, lifting them stroller and all. "Let's go find your Mommy."

He found her in the living room, cowering on the couch, her hair sopping wet. Wrapped in a shawl for warmth, she was still shaking. She looked up at him and the twins. "No!" Her voice was almost a shriek. "Keep them away!"

"What the hell's going on?" Nevertheless, Hiei placed the twins at the foot of the stairs and approached.

Her teeth chattered. "Thought you were in the p-park with---"

"You should have called."

"Was about to."

"You're not sick, are you?"

She shook her head. Drops of water fell from her hair.

"Sure?" He ran his fingers through the wet layers of her hair, raising his ki a bit, steaming the water off.

He knew her well enough to picture how it had gone: something had scared her in the shower, and it wasn't any bug, either. Hiei doubted she had even noticed the spying jaki.

The gumdrop-gray eyes glistened, then she looked down, as though ashamed of her own fear. "I---I don't think this is any kind of skin disease." She flicked back the shawl.

Hiei studied her arm. At this stage, he did not wish to panic her further, though his own heart constricted, and he thought of the video they had executed together, to a song he knew would tank but had not. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"At first," she continued, "I thought this might just be some kind of post-partum rash."

"Ah." That explained why she had been wearing long sleeves, despite the weather.

"But just now, in the shower..." She shook her head. "There was no way I could convince myself it's not real. And it's gotten worse. In just a matter of minutes, it's gotten worse. I'm scared to go near the kids."

"Ch. They're fine." Gently, he lifted her arm and examined it inch by inch. "Does it hurt?"

"If I wasn't looking at it I wouldn't know it was there."

The thing was on her _left_ arm, he noted. Odd.

Someone bammed on the door. "Yuusuke and Kurama," he explained. "They probably followed me."

She hesitated.

"I can tell them to butt out."

"No," she murmured. "Let them in. They'll have to see it sooner or later."

0-0-0-0-0

The little jaki finished his rice crackers, then shook the bag somewhat mournfully, hoping for crumbs. When none emerged, he scrambled up the tree where the two boys and the demon had recently been. The girl had not died when his master had wanted her to. Maybe while she still lived, she or her mate would feed him again.

0-0-0-0-0

Kurama and Yuusuke stood shoulder-to-shoulder, giving Hiei almost identical expressions of puzzlement.

"Kurama." Hiei urged him to join them on the sofa. "Can you still access Youko's memory?"

Kurama's brows drew together. "Why?"

"Look at this." Hiei gestured toward Shay-san's arm. "You, too, Yuusuke." Urameshi came to sit on the coffee table opposite them, leaning close to the action.

Hiei took hold of Shay-san's arm; he knew she didn't want him to, but this had to be done. Her flesh felt cold.

She pulled her arm away. "If this thing runs wild---"

"You've had it for this long," Hiei reminded her. "Hasn't hurt anyone yet."

"Famous last words," she muttered, but allowed him to slide back the shawl and display her arm for the others to see.

Urameshi's eyes widened. He whistled softly.

Kurama stared, not making a sound. He put his hand out, slowly, his very hesitancy a question, glancing at Hiei.

Hiei looked at his firebird. At her nod Kurama examined her arm, his russet hair falling over his intent face, partially covering the object of his scrutiny. Then he lowered her arm gently, sat back, and breathed out. "Tell me what you see. Yuusuke, you first."

Outside, the sounds of distant traffic sifted by. Pigeons gobbled somewhere overhead.

Urameshi looked up, frowning. "It's a dragon," he said.

"It is," agreed Hiei.

But Shay-san's dragon was different from Hiei's.

Again, Hiei thought of their video, and his heart gave an odd little thump. He may have been able to see far with his Jagan, but could no more predict the future than some cheap carny fortune-teller. Now, however---

"I don't need to access the memories of Youko to know this." Kurama shook back his hair. "Minamino Shuuichi has learned a thing or two in his day as well. Hiei, don't un-ward your dragon. But take note of how they differ."

Faint but evident, the dragon etched against her skin, like an ancient tattoo, faded with time.

Only this 'tattoo' was doing the opposite: becoming clearer, stronger. To Hiei's eyes, her dragon had a distinctly feminine demeanor: more slender, and not black, but painted in tones of orange-gold. He could see why she had mistaken it for a rash.

And unlike his, which wound most of the way up his right biceps, hers wrapped around the left forearm only. Its muzzle was different, too: shorter, blunt, sporting luxuriant whiskers. And were those ears? It had tiny legs, almost like flippers. A mane that resembled feathers.

"This," announced Kurama, "is the Dragon of Smoke."

His firebird jumped as if electrocuted. She threw him a wild, fearful look; her memory of the day following the birth of Michael and Cecilia might have gone, but she would remember this.

**Dragon of Smoke**. Hiei could not repress a shudder. It was what he had named Shay-san's character in the video for 'Chasing The Dragon.' The video in which he had hoped to capture the attention of any fire demons---one of whom might be his father--- still lurking in Ningenkai.

"Yuusuke." Kurama broke in on Hiei's thoughts. "Would you be willing to participate in a little experiment?"

"No, he would not," Hiei said, simultaneous with his firebird.

"Sure! Go ahead." The dark-haired boy left the coffee table to flop into a chair opposite the sofa. "Just so you don't make me cluck like a chicken again. I hate when that happens."

"No way." Shay-san wrapped the shawl tighter with an air of finality. "This isn't some mad scientist's lab!"

Urameshi rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Houdini."

"No; wait." Shay-san was clearly uneasy. "Hiei had to work hard to get his Dragon to cooperate, right?"

"Which it's not doing now," Hiei reminded her.

"Then what's this one doing on me? It's not like I called room service and ordered a Dragon!"

"Good question," said Kurama. "But we still have to learn what this can do." He flicked a loaded glance at Hiei.

_Kurama suspects something_, Hiei thought. _Something he doesn't want to say in front of everyone. _

_I've heard of this Dragon of Smoke, never seen one. Not as ravenous as the Black Dragon, not sure what it can do. But I know one thing. It doesn't just appear---you have to acquire it, tame it, same as I did with mine. What is it that Kurama doesn't want to reveal just now_?

Shay-san turned a pleading gaze to Kurama. "Can't you just ward it and leave it go at that? Fashion me a gauntlet like you did for Hiei?"

Kurama's shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug. "I could have---once."

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "Stupid and thoughtless of me. But what if it blows the house away, and us with it?"

"I don't believe it will," interrupted Hiei.

Kurama flashed him an inquisitive look. "So you know about this kind of dragon, too?"

Hiei grunted.

Shay-san the threw up her hands. "Oh. Well. A grunt speaks volumes."

"Woman," Hiei sighed. "Cooperate, for once in your life."

Uttering a rude phrase in English, Shay-san relented. "All right," she said. "Tell me what to do."

Leaning into her, Kurama whispered: "Command Yuusuke to do something simple. I won't suggest what. Employ your Spellcasting Voice, just as you did at the Crazy Dog diner."

She nodded silent assent. Rising, Kurama crossed to where Urameshi sat and tapped his shoulder, speaking so everyone could hear. "Whatever Shay-san tells you to do, you must resist."

"Piece of cake." Urameshi grinned.

Kurama re-joined them on the sofa.

"Go for it!" The boy composed himself in the chair, relaxed yet alert, his eyes on Shay-san. "Forewarned is forearmed. No way are you gonna be able to make me cluck like a chicken."

Urameshi approached the situation with his usual good- natured enthusiasm, but for Hiei, the room hummed with tension.

His firebird was an ethical creature, hardly the type to latch on to a weapon with glee and go shooting it off at random. He could sense her weighing the consequences of her actions.

Shay-san drew herself up, breathing deep and slow, her eyes closed, preparing herself. Hiei counted along silently: one, two, three, four---.

She opened her eyes on five.

"Yuuuuuusuke," she purred. The boy's head straightened a bit. Though she did not call Hiei by name, he felt the hairs lift on the back of his neck.

"Yuuusuke." Shay-san raised her Dragon arm, palm-up. "Yuuuuusuke." The faintest curl of dragon-shaped smoke rose from her palm to float toward Urameshi, like incense.

"Yuuuusuke," she crooned. "It's hot for this time of year."

She was right; May in December. Confusing. Early dark already falling, yet coupled with sultry temperatures. Paradox. "Take off your jacket," she urged.

Hiei could sense Kurama's tension---virtually willing the boy not to respond. Why? What was there to fear?

The Dragon of Smoke inched toward Urameshi. "Yuuuusuke, take off your jacket," she repeated.

Urameshi's features thickened. His mouth became a heavy wet rose, but he did not move. He was not going to give in. This boy was not weak, Hiei knew; he had faced the Jagan as though it was nothing. He could resist a simple Command.

"Yuuuuuuuuuuuuusuke," she purred. The dragon-smoke twisted at the sound of her voice, drifted closer to the boy.

Hiei felt sweat collect between his shoulder blades. The heat: wrong for December, right for May, made him want to shed his own jacket, he who never cared about the weather one way or another. The Dragon of Smoke was nose-to-nose with Urameshi.

And Urameshi rose.

Shay-san clamped a hand to her wrist. "Enough!" Smoke swirled back to her palm, like a film in reverse, then vanished.

The jacket slid to the floor. Urameshi stood blinking down at it. "What?" he demanded, glancing from Kurama to Hiei. "Did she make me do the chicken thing after all?"

From near the stairs came the sounds of the twins, asking for attention. Shay-san bolted to them, her footsteps clattering like a frightened deer's.

Hiei got up, too. He lifted Urameshi's jacket, brushed it off, laid it on the back of the chair. The boy did not put it on again. No one looked at one another.

"Dragon of Smoke," said Kurama at last. "How did it get there?"

(To Be Continued: What's become of the enemy?)

-30-


	20. FS C19: The Kit, The Park, and

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C19: The Kit, The Park, And Other Things

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Kurama gives a warning, and Hiei gets one he doesn't expect.

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! My accompanying sketches can be viewed on my LJ homepagey, BTW.

"If you pull that stunt again, you'll die!"

Firebird Sweet C 19: The Kit, The Park, and Other Things

by

Kenshin

Hiei was returning to normal, but there were still days when he felt tired and weak. Weak enough to wonder if he had the strength to babysit his own twins, when the doorbell rang.

Christmas had come and gone. January was here. Soon enough, Romantic Soldier would be sojourning to America. Soon enough, whoever was ringing the bell would leave.

They didn't.

Muttering, Hiei levered himself off the couch and opened the door.

His two visitors surprised him by their very presence, not to mention the fact that they were together.

Without so much as a 'Well, if it ain't my favorite little pissant,' Father Brian bulled his way into the house. Genkai followed.

"You were dead," Father Brian told Hiei, in English. "Deader than a doornail."

"Aren't you going to ask us in?" said Genkai, in Japanese.

_Where_, wondered Hiei, _is my firebird when I need her_?

0-0-0-0-0

_To say Kurama's been a handful since the twins were born is an understatement_, thought Shayla Kidd, hurrying along the heat-shimmered street.

She never knew what mood he would present to the world: cool, controlled, and erudite, like his old self; silent and broody; or equally silent, but clearly scared: a teenage boy facing life without his special powers.

But Kurama was a fighter to the core. He would prevail.

How ironic that she felt more like herself with each passing day: stronger, in control of body and mind again, even with the new element of the Dragon of Smoke.

She wondered what powers the twins might eventually manifest. As she had predicted, they were dream babies, sleeping through just about anything, feeding well, gaining weight.

She dashed into a neighborhood grocery. Emerging with a small tin of wasabi powder in hand, she crossed the street, and set out alongside the park.

0-0-0-0-0

The park provided as good a hiding place as any, Shifter decided, glancing around at the trees. He knew the cause of the crazy weather, of course, but what he did not know was when it would stop.

With luck, he hoped to find a hole to Makai before then.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei stared at the invaders. The Kuwabara house was empty of both the idiot and his sister, and also Shay-san, who claimed they were out of wasabi powder. Hiei wished the house would now empty itself of Genkai and Father Brian.

With his snapping black eyes and pit-bull shoulders, Father Brian bristled at Hiei. Genkai, faded, diminutive, but no less tough, glowered in tandem with the priest at her side.

Hiei sighed. "If I throw a stick, will you leave?"

0-0-0-0-0

Shayla Kidd reached her destination, and the door opened on her first knock. Groomed and clean, Kurama wore in a light gray polo shirt that revealed he was still the slightest bit underweight. But he hesitated, casting nervous glances past her shoulder.

"Good morning," she prodded. "I'm guessing you called me over so I could stand in for a missing lawn jockey."

"Sorry." Kurama ushered her inside. "You're certain you didn't tell Hiei you were coming?"

"Not here I didn't." Kurama, with the aid of Genkai and Father Brian and (via phone) demonologist Brother Thomas McNeil, had theorized the Dragon was born of Hiei's ki, which had boosted her existing powers in an unforeseen way; likely also that the Heartblade carried something in it of Youko, however small.

The jacket she wore to cover the Dragon ward (a spare of Hiei's) bothered her in this heat. She gladly shed it, grateful for the cool clean air of the Minamino residence. Kurama, to her surprise, had made coffee for her, not his usual tea.

It was excellent, too---the French press kind, strong, thick and fragrant. After the first ambrosial sip, she told him so.

"Thanks." He sat on the couch next to her, almost thigh-to-thigh.

_Not an attempt at a pass_, she thought; _I'd sense that in a New York minute. But what?_

0-0-0-0-0

Ignoring the fact that the priest and the reiki master were already inside, Hiei intoned, "Won't you come in?"

"Ahh," crooned Father Brian. "I see sarcasm is just one of the many services you offer." Genkai took one supremely scornful look at Hiei and waved away his offer to brew tea, then marched into the kitchen to make it herself.

When Genkai returned with the tea tray, Father Brian was on his hands and knees before the twins, babbling nonsense to them. Genkai put the tray down with an odd glance that Hiei would have sworn was a mix of affection and sadness.

Father Brian reluctantly abandoned the twins, seating himself on a chair facing both Hiei and Genkai.

Rolling his eyes, Hiei resigned himself to the task of performing as translator.

0-0-0-0-0

_So I'm here without Hiei_, mused Shayla Kidd. _At Kurama's insistence_.

If this meeting had been a simple confab about Romantic Soldier, Kurama would not have made her arrive alone. _Could it be Youko's returned? For all Shuu-kun claims Youko's dead and gone, I believe he's still lurking in there_.

"Do you remember," Kurama began, after a sip of coffee, "that first article I wrote about you and Hiei?"

"Remember?" she snorted. "My aunt Carmel has it _framed_."

"And you said you were from New Jersey."

She shot him a questioning glance, and he went on.

"But your family, Aunt Carmel among them, lives in California, and Hiei found you in Arizona."

She sipped more coffee. "It was Dad's family who came from California. Mom was a Jersey native. That's where they met. I think he wanted to get as far away from them as possible."

"Arizona's a lot closer to California than---"

"We moved whenever Dad lost a job, though I don't remember all that well---I was only six when they died, and we lived in Chicago by then."

"And the convent schools---"

"Immaculate Heart, in Arizona. My grandfather sent me."

"Immaculate Heart?"

"Yes. The name of our church here. Small world, isn't it?"

"With hardly a mention on your part. Playing things awfully close to the vest, aren't you?"

"Immaculate Heart is a common enough name for Catholic churches and schools." Rising from the couch, she made a great show of looking around the room.

Kurama gave her a puzzled glance. "Anything wrong?"

"Just wondering where you put the Blossom of Truth."

A faint tinge of color rose on Kurama's cheeks. "That's not what this is---"

"You didn't call me here to marvel at my globetrotting."

Kurama did not respond immediately. She sat again, in silence, waiting for him to break it.

A kitchen clock ticked away. She watched Kurama from the tail of her eye.

"You're a very clever girl," he began.

"Flattery will get you everywhere and then some."

"Playing things close to the vest might be wise at the moment." Tucking one leg under him, Kurama turned so he half-faced her. "But sooner or later the word gets out: Hiei's mate is a Spellcaster."

"And the enemy'll find ways to counteract it. Which renders me useless. I should have brought my gun."

Kurama raised an eyebrow. "Why? Planning to use it on me?"

0-0-0-0-0

Father Brian and Genkai had just finished telling Hiei they were worried about him. He snorted. Not only that, but they had been discussing more than just the Dragon of Smoke, and it wasn't long before they'd put two and two together.

He snorted again.

They then informed him the stunt he had pulled when Shay-san stopped breathing was not only wantonly idiotic, but needless.

Studying Hiei as though he was a lab rat about to be dissected, the priest reiterated, "You died, son."

"The opposite of alive," added Genkai. "Kurama's sick of telling the story by now."

"Lucky that long-haired brigand had two lives to give, or you'd _both_ be deader than doornails." Father Brian's enthusiasm was a bit much for Hiei.

"You should take your act on the road," he muttered.

"Of all the bonehead things to do!" Genkai slurped tea.

"Aren't you Yuusuke's albatross, not mine?" countered Hiei.

"No, it's me who's your albatross," growled Father Brian. "An' I agree with the little lady one hundred ten percent."

Hiei rose. "She was gone! What was I supposed to do?"

Standing, Father Brian put down his teacup with a clatter. "You were supposed to trust me! I could have told you the Heartblade wouldn't damn her for eternity. I also could've told you I never went to seminary with anyone like that old priest!"

The tale of the old priest's warning had emerged, as well. "He looked American. And spoke English, better than you."

"Where'd you get your idea of what priests are like, kid? Grade-B movies?" Father Brian clenched a meaty fist. "Believing such nonsense from a stranger!"

Hiei settled for a slow fume. "If he wasn't in the seminary with you, then---"

"He was a demon," said Genkai.

Hiei gaped at the old reiki master.

"You really have lost your brains along with your _ki_." Genkai put down her own teacup with a ferocious bang. "Back in May you fought a Shifter in the park. What makes you think that was the only one who got through the barrier?"

Reddening, Hiei clamped his mouth shut.

0-0-0-0-0

"Relax," Shayla told Kurama. "I wasn't planning to shoot you. Besides, I told you---my gun's at home."

He didn't smile. "You should carry it at all times now."

"I suppose you'll tell me why?"

"It's just as Genkai once said: Spellcasting can be very powerful. But it's also easily countered. First, yes, the enemy can use earplugs, or something of that nature. But earplugs can be removed, and there are few demons desperate enough to permanently deafen themselves."

Moving her own fingers, she raised the stakes, covering his near hand with hers. His hand felt icy.

She held his gaze. "Let's make things crystal clear. Whatever may have occurred in the past, whatever may occur in the future, we're on the same side."

"I know. That's what worries me."

She removed her hand, shifting away slightly. Kurama also shifted, ever so slightly towards her. "So why are we having this conversation? If you don't mind explaining to a loud, crude, somewhat dumb little _gaijin_."

"I think you just answered your own question." With a quick shake of his head, Kurama deflected her protests. "No, I'll be as blunt as you like. You just demonstrated very neatly that there's more to the Spellcaster's art than mere words. You've been controlling my reactions, however subtly, for all you claim to be crude." He gently took hold of her left wrist.

Was this what Kurama didn't want Hiei to know? She slid a finger under the gauntlet, exposing the Dragon.

"This--Dragon of Smoke." His voice sank to a whisper. "Born of Youko's spirit and Hiei's desperation. Tempered by your own powers, with something of---ice---at its soul." He put her arm away from him, a shiver running through the whole of his lanky frame, as if touching the arm hurt him in some way. Maybe it reminded him of his own loss.

His chill, she discovered, was catching. Gooseflesh straked her arms, and she did not know why.

"This is a weapon of almost limitless power. You stopped short of demonstrating it on Yuusuke back then. That was wise. The Dragon of Smoke can get into someone's cells. Do you see?"

See what? Was Kurama now afraid of her?

"You could control someone at a cellular level. Your enemy could tear out his ears, and that wouldn't stop the Dragon." The throaty contralto voice was shaking. "Skin is permeable to this type of smoke, were you aware of that?"

"I don't want it," she said, stupidly. It was true; she barely wanted to be a Spellcaster. All well and good wrangling oni for the team, but a power that needed warding?

She shuddered.

"The time for carelessness is long past," said Kurama. "I was guilty of it myself, talking about the loss of my powers right out in the open. No longer."

0-0-0-0-0

"The old priest was a fake? Why would anyone---" Hiei glanced down at the twins, and went cold.

"These incidents that have occurred since the barrier breech," said Genkai. "The unholy ki everyone sensed at the pachinko parlor---"

"An' that was no used car salesman, or even a lawyer," interjected Father Brian. "Your battle in the park. Your punk friend and that redheaded bandit attacked."

_And let's not forget the demons in that cemetery._

Genkai plowed on. "You really believe it's all unrelated?"

Hiei said nothing. Michael looked up at him, silent and wondering. CeeCee twisted round, waving both hands and feet, looking for the man who had been tickling her. Hiei handed her to the priest, where she crowed in delight.

"That little one's a lot like her mother." Genkai gave the baby a half-smile, then inquired of Michael. "You, young man---are you going to grow up to be a runt like your daddy?"

And Michael arched away from Genkai, and that was when Hiei realized, with heart-swelling certainty, that not only did his son understand words, but also loyalty.

"But we're not just here to slurp tea and coo over the twins," snapped Genkai.

Father Brian flushed, and stopped babbling at the baby girl. Settling CeeCee back in the stroller next to her brother, he turned to face Hiei. "And about that transfer of ki," he began.

Hiei looked from the priest to the reiki master like a sleeper awakening. "What of it?"

"If you pull that stunt again---" Genkai fixed him with those heavy-lidded eyes.

"You'll die," finished Father Brian. "Pure and simple."

"For good this time," added Genkai.

"H'n. Then I'll just have to make sure it never happens again."

"An' where is the little colleen anyway?" Father Brian gave the twins a fond smile.

Hiei glanced at the clock. It shouldn't take this long to buy wasabi powder.

0-0-0-0-0

Unleas Shayla Kidd was very much mistaken, Kurama seemed to be terrified. "What's going on?" she asked him.

Kurama got control of his shaking and gave her a paper cut of a smile. "I suppose I'm baring my throat to you."

"And I thought _I_ was crude." She snorted. "Don't even try that with me! No need to bare your throat, no need to seek mercy. We established we're on the same team and I'm not pulling any gun on you. If you're worried about the Dragon, all you'd have to do to stop it is---"

"Don't!" Moving in a blur, Kurama lunged for her, covering her mouth with one hand. "Don't speak such a thing aloud!"

"Well," said a voice. "What a cozy scene."

Shayla Kidd knew that voice, that soft and dangerous purr.

Kurama jerked his hand away and whipped around to face the intruder.

Hiei leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. "I await Kurama's explanation."

0-0-0-0-0

For some time now, Carlos had the knack of being elsewhere when trouble struck.

The night his third boss, the Colombian drug lord Alvarez, had been gunned down, Carlos sat in a restaurant across town sampling a _paisa_ platter.

When his fifth boss' chopper crashed in a freak storm, killing all passengers and crew, Carlos, originally scheduled to pilot, was down in his room with a raging fever.

Back in May, Carlos had been extradited to Mexico. A day later, his sixth boss and his entire staff were blown to bits.

In a police Jeep with three guards, headed for a Mexican jail, Carlos believed his luck had run out. Especially when the monsters appeared, stopping the Jeep.

One was olive-colored, the other gray, and they looked more or less human, but weren't. The olive one was bigger than any human Carlos had ever seen, and both took a couple of bullets seemingly without pause, before dispatching the guards.

Then the gray one had spoken, in excruciatingly bad Spanish, while the olive one frog-marched Carlos through a shimmering spot between the trees. It was (as they explained when they emerged in Japan) a hole between worlds.

He'd learned since that Olive was the strong-arm of the pair, while Little Gray was the brains. Gray could even manufacture a crude grade of plastic explosive, though better stuff was available on the black market.

But today, trouble was right here, in the form of a very sick fire demon.

The Boss lay on the floor of the office, sweating, muttering incoherently, scorching hot. He had been this way since the fire-haired girl refused to die on schedule.

Little Gray was whispering. "Singly, they're powerless. In a group, however---" He jerked his head at the semi-conscious Boss, surrounded by the _mizu no odoriko_--the water dancers. "They can heal."

But the tiny _youkai_ were still not cooperating. That was clear even to Carlos, who was unable to comprehend their shrill little voices. "Who speaks their language?"

The gray oni shrugged. "That's not one of my talents. But you know what they say about fire demons: Burn fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse."

Looking at the Boss, Carlos grimaced. "Hope he lives long enough to find out I got him that chopper."

0-0-0-0-0

"There. Isn't this nice?"

Hiei sat between Shayla Kidd and Kurama, arms spread over the back of the sofa. It was perhaps ten minutes after his arrival; he had listened to Kurama's explanations with a hard glitter in his eyes, ignoring Shayla's questions about the twins until something dangerous seemed to snap and dissipate within him, and he informed her they were with Genkai and Father Brian.

"Good coffee." Hiei snagged her cup, took a sip. "If a little cold."

"I'll make a fresh pot," Kurama offered.

"It can wait." Hiei turned to Shayla, laid a hand on her ward-arm. "A dangerous thing to speak of," Hiei said. "I agree. But there's no weapon in existence that can't be taken from its owner or in some way subverted. I've had sword in hand since age five---trust me on this."

Time for another blast of American bluntness. Cat-stepping around enemies was good strategy, but allies deserved better.

"Kurama's afraid of me," she said, and heard Kurama's sigh.

Hiei smirked. "With good reason."

Kurama removed himself from the couch and sat in a chair. At her side, Hiei flicked his gaze back and forth between them as though he was watching a tennis match.

"If you're afraid of me..." _Then this team is finished._

Hiei added, "I'm the one who should fear this Dragon of Smoke. She could make me spend my life doing dishes and changing diapers. Oh, wait ..."

Tension dissolved in a much-needed laugh.

And then Shayla Kidd met Kurama's leaf-green eyes, narrowed as if in pain, and in a whirl of shock, understood that he wasn't afraid _of_ her.

He was afraid _for_ her.

Sooner or later, some enemy would come after her dragon arm. And the simplest way would be to remove it altogether.

-30-

(To Be Continued: Leaving on a jet plane!)


	21. FS C20: Falling In Love Again

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C20: Falling In Love Again

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Fond farewells as the boys depart for America.

A/N: Hey, ffnet people, my accompanying sketches are up on my lj homepagey. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing.

Champagne all around!

Firebird Sweet C20: Falling In Love Again

by

Kenshin

Late February in Tokyo is a season of change. During the normal course of events, temperatures vary from the 50s down to the 30s. Often, early florals such as hardy bulbs will bud out. But this season was abnormal, still suffering the effects of record highs throughout much of December and January, and the plants didn't know whether they were coming or going.

Neither did Kurama.

Already at the Kuwabara house, he reflected that it was now almost a year since Hiei had gone to America and returned, himself forever changed. And as Romantic Soldier was leaving tomorrow for America, a party was in the works. But Hiei had not yet appeared, and Kurama wondered what was taking so long.

Though physically back in fighting trim, Kurama was not quite used to his new persona. It was inevitable that one day he would again have to fight demons. He hoped Shay-san was right, and that he could scare them off.

Perhaps he was destined for life as a pop star instead.

But waiting up in Kuwabara's room with Kuwabara and Yuusuke, Kurama thought music had abandoned him as well. Yuusuke's incessant drumming on a chair made him want to bite something.

And the two boys kept looking at him with such ill-disguised pity, as though he was in some way damaged, that Kurama could not take much more of their silent brand of concern.

Damaged goods. He supposed that, in a sense, he was.

Which put him more or less on the level of Shay-san. Yes, he was bigger, with martial arts skills that she lacked. But she still had her powers, without which they might not have defeated White Sands Serpent, and she had a Dragon, though as far as Kurama could tell, she seemed determined to ignore its existence.

Yuusuke tore out another drum riff.

Kurama rose. "I'll just go and see what Shay-san is up to." He waited with her in the living room, where she admitted to a case of nerves. Kurama supposed his were worse.

So when Hiei burst through the front door and announced, "It's terrible! Terrible!" Shay-san shot to her feet, and an eel of apprehension shot through Kurama's belly.

Hiei flung himself onto the couch. Head in hands, he muttered a litany Kurama could not hear.

Imagining the worst, Kurama exchanged frightened glances with Shay-san. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Hiei lifted his head. He looked up at Kurama, his crimson eyes wide and staring. "It's _awful_," he whispered.

Alarm tightened Kurama's throat. "What is?"

Hiei rose dramatically. "I have no vibrato!" he shouted, then collapsed back onto the couch, moaning piteously.

Kurama briefly considered strangling him. "I'll lend you some of mine," he got out, between gritted teeth.

"Thanks," sighed Hiei. "You are a true friend."

"And thanks for the heart attack," spat Shay-san.

"That voice coach," bemoaned Hiei. "He also made me take off my shirt."

"Made you take off your _shirt_?" they chorused.

"Yeah." Hiei's look was perfected innocence. "That's when he assured me appearance matters more than ability."

"Lucky for you." Shay-san rolled her eyes.

"Imagine that," said Kurama, just managing to un-clench his teeth. "Voice lessons, and us leaving in the morning. How very eleventh-hour of you."

Hiei folded his arms. "Anything worth doing is worth doing late."

"Remind me to remind you of that when I kill you later on," Kurama said.

"It's true, though. And not only do I have no vibrato, but he said I scoop."

"You _scoop_?" they chorused again.

"I scoop. Awful, isn't it?"

"What's scoop?" murmured Kurama, in Shay-san's ear.

"Sliding up in pitch to the note you're supposed to be singing," she murmured in return. "Old-style jazz vocalists used the technique."

"I don't know whether we can afford to be seen in the company of a scooper," said Kurama.

"I'm out of here." Shay-san said abruptly, and headed up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Hiei demanded.

"To slip into something more comfortable."

_Uh-oh_, mouthed Hiei, exchanging glances with Kurama.

Hiei, too, was approaching physical peak again, though he still could not summon his Dragon.

Father Brian thought it could be retrained, but Kurama wondered if Hiei's loss felt anything like losing Youko. That, Kurama reflected, was akin to losing an eye. Your vision eventually adjusts, but you are never the same. He could still recall Youko, that old soul, wise and canny and daring, but could no more summon him than Hiei could his Dragon.

Kurama was now as fit and tough as any 16-year-old boy could wish, but Youko's demonic powers had given him the quite useful ability to fight at a distance. Almost all his weapons, including the Rose Whip, were meant for standoff combat.

Hiei, skilled swordsman that he was, no doubt felt more comfortable in close-quarters battle.

As if reading Kurama's thoughts, Hiei raised an eyebrow. "You really planning to kill me later?" he asked.

That was when the doorbell rang. Abandoning the question of Kurama's 'threat,' Hiei went to let the first guest in, and a heavily-accented voice shouted, "Surprise!"

It was Lermontov. The Russian dance instructor swept through the doorway, commanding the room with his imperious gaze.

"What are you doing here?" Hiei said rather weakly.

"I?" sniffed the Russian. "I was invited. And I did not arrive alone. If I am not welcome, perhaps this will change little rebel's mind." Reaching into a pocket of his voluminous coat, Lermontov produced an icy bottle of champagne.

"It isn't anyone's birthday," protested Hiei.

"No?" thundered Lermontov. "But you are going away. Is almost as good as birthday!"

"Hey." Shizuru's voice came from somewhere outside, and she sounded rather testy. "Make room for the food, can't you?" Kuwabara's sister squeezed past Lermontov, followed by Kuwabara's friends Ohkubo, Kirishima and Sawamura, each of whom staggered under a towering stack of bentou boxes from the Yukimura diner.

Shizuru cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, "Little bro'! Get down here!"

Kuwabara and Yuusuke thundered downstairs to relieve the other boys of their burden, while Shizuru stage-managed the placing of food and drink on a makeshift buffet in the living room that was also laid out with cigarettes and sake.

"Oh," drawled Lermontov. "Others are coming up path." Moving away from his prime position at the door at last, he gave way for video director Yukawa Kenji, who bowed to everyone with a great deal more effusiveness than Lermontov. Then came the delicate beauty Ibuki.

There was a noticeable pause at her entrance.

Kurama found himself admiring her white-blond hair, caught up in contrasting jet-black combs, and her brilliant aquamarine eyes that swept the room with open, childlike curiosity. He was not alone in his fascination: Sawamura, Kirishima and Ohkubo simply stood and gaped.

"I'm so happy to be able to meet you all at last," said Ibuki, in a voice more _apropos_ of an 11-year-old girl; Kuwabara's three friends nearly swooned on the spot.

Shay-san remained upstairs. _Poor thing_, thought Kurama, _missing all the fun_.

With Kuwabara's friends stuck like deer in the headlights, Kurama beat them out, helping first Ibuki and then himself to some food. Ibuki, he soon learned, was rather shy, and appreciative of Kurama's reserved manner.

"Is that negimaki?" came a plaintive squeal from upstairs. Shay-san galloped down, in a slinky black cocktail dress that made her look every bit as glamourous as Ibuki. The effect of a movie-star entrance was spoiled somewhat by the fact that Shay-san had a twin tucked under each arm; she gave one to Hiei and one to Shizuru, then loaded a plate with beef rolls.

She was still shoveling negimaki into her mouth when the doorbell rang again. Soon the house was filled with people: Genkai, Father Brian, and Yukina. Dr. Smith. Keiko and Kaasan. A couple of Shizuru's friends from the hair salon, and even Atsuko, on her best behavior.

"Yukina-san!" Kuwabara's voice soared; he shot to the ice maiden's side like an arrow to the gold.

Ibuki was then cornered by Shizuru's friends, who marvelled at the candy-floss sheen of her hair. After that, Kurama contented himself with observing. For a while, it was the twins, and not pop idol Ibuki, who were the center of attention. Michael and Cecilia got fussed over by all females present---and surprisingly, Lermontov.

Yuusuke wondered, loudly and often, how anyone could enjoy himself at a party littered with mothers and wives. Kuwabara seemed oblivious to everything but Yukina.

Glancing at Hiei, Kurama wondered how he was handling that particular development, and the crowd; Kaasan was in a corner whispering to him, with Hiei nodding. No doubt Kaasan was telling Hiei it was impolite to immolate party guests.

Or perhaps she was asking the fire demon to look after Kurama. Kaasan knew of Kurama's loss; her support came in the form of behaving toward him much as she had before, which Kurama most gratefully accepted.

Finishing with Hiei, Kaasan joined her son. Dr. Smith had staked out a territory around the buffet, exchanging talk with Father Brian, who was visibly relieved to find another English speaker.

Then Smith turned his head in the direction of Ibuki, hemmed in again by the gaping, stammering trio of Kuwabara's friends. Excusing himself from Father Brian, the doctor motioned to the buffet, calling to Ibuki in an impressive voice: "Room for one more, Honey."

Turning pink with relief, Ibuki scurried to join in, squeezing herself into place at the doctor's side.

Kaasan flicked a glance filled with merriment at Kurama. "You can't help but do a bit of matchmaking," she whispered.

"Maybe _you_ can't," Kurama assured her. "The rest of us have no trouble resisting the impulse."

"True," sighed Kaasan. "Smith-sensei's a bit old for her."

Kurama gave his mother a fond smile. "And I'm far too young, so don't even think it."

There was a brief lull in the background roar. Elaborately, deliberately, Shay-san strolled to the buffet, extracted a cigarette and lit it. Holding the cigarette as a prop, she turned a chair around, straddled it dress and all, then cast an insolent, amused glance at her audience.

Hiei ordered, "Cut it out."

Arms crossed on the back of the chair, she slanted Hiei a smoke-filled look. "Make me."

"Not in front of the children," Hiei retorted.

Kurama got the feeling Hiei wasn't referring to the twins.

When every eye was upon her, Shay-san began to sing:

"Falling in love again

Never wanted to

What am I to do?

Caaaan't helllp iiiit."

"What's so damned funny?" Yuusuke whispered to Kurama.

"She's imitating Marlene Dietrich," Kurama gasped, holding the stitch in his side. "A German-American film star from the 1930s. And she's right; Hiei sounds just like her."

Kurama found a couch to fall into. He was sure he had broken some ribs laughing.

The rest of the crowd responded with applause. "Woman." Hiei leaned over her chair. "This is a bit much, even for you."

She waved a langourous plume of smoke into his face.

Hiei growled, "Put out that cigarette."

"No sense letting good smoke go to waste," said Lermontov, holding out his hand. Shay-san relinquished the smoke. Bowing deeply, the Russian presented it to Shizuru like it was a diamond ring.

Shizuru locked gazes with Lermontov for a moment, then took a deep, grateful drag.

"What do you know," drawled Shay-san. "Lermontov developed a case of manners after all."

"Maybe we should have made him the twins' godfather," said Hiei.

"No finer godfather than a man o' the cloth," said Father Brian, baring his teeth in a combative grin. "You chose well for once, y' little pissant."

"This godfather business." Lermontov raised a supercilious eyebrow at Hiei. "Is baby thing, no? I don't do babies."

"Spoilsport," muttered Shay-san, depositing CeeCee into the Russian's lap.

"Such pretty face." Lermontov addressed the little girl. "So much better-looking than your rebellious pipsqueak of a father."

CeeCee gurgled.

"And much better sounding, too," added the Russian.

"Seriously," began Hiei, "if you want to know the truth, I hate the sound of my voice."

"So do I!" agreed Lermontov.

"I wasn't speaking to you," said Hiei frostily. Fixing each of them with a mournful gaze, he went on, "Really---I listen to myself and think: This guy has an IQ that makes Kuwabara seem like Einstein by comparison."

"I heard that!" bellowed Kuwabara.

"You were meant to," Hiei shot back.

"Nobody sounds the way they think they do." Shay-san rose from the chair. "Even Lermontov."

Hiei shut his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"

"Well, if it's any consolation," Shay-san purred, "I love the way you sound."

Hiei brightened. "Really?"

"Get a room, you two," suggested Shizuru.

Kurama pressed one hand to his aching ribs. "Marlene Dietrich," he snickered.

"I would have said Bing Crosby myself." Hiei leveled a murderous glare at him. "But that's just me."

"Heh heh." Kurama escaped to Yukawa Kenji's side, speaking at length with the jovial little director about home video equipment.

Kenji, Lermontov, Ibuki: all good people at heart, and Kurama was pleased to include them as friends.

Ibuki continued to draw Kirishima, Ohkubo and Sawamura like a magnet, while Shizuru allowed Lermontov to light another cigarette for her. At last, Shay-san hauled the twins upstairs for bedtime.

After that the party wound down. First to leave were Genkai and Yukina (much to Kuwabara's chagrin), and then Father Brian caught a ride with Smith-sensei. Ibuki followed, apologizing right and left; she had an early call the next day. She left flanked by Lermontov and Kenji, with Kuwabara's friends on their heels.

Then came the steady trickle of guests out the door, and they were alone---or as alone as all six of them could be.

"Too many people," Hiei muttered. "Good riddance."

Now _that_ was the old Hiei. Kurama could not repress a grin.

"Okay, I'm bored now," said Yuusuke.

_Please_, thought Kurama, _let Genkai have walked off with his drumsticks_.

"I got a new flying game." Kuwabara waggled the unopened box at Yuusuke as a kind of challenge. "Crash And Burn. Gotta keep your plane in the air when it's being shot at and stuff."

An inexplicable shudder ran through Kurama as the two boys stormed the TV and began the video game.

Hiei and Kurams watched the combat for a bit, Kurama from the couch, Hiei standing. "This whole thing's been like an amusement park ride," Hiei sighed. "Sometimes I can't even believe in it."

"Believe in what?" Kurama was curious.

"The band. How I make my living now."

_Oh, that..._

Hiei flicked a glance at the kitchen; a burst of female giggling rose. "That song, Chasing the Dragon. Didn't really expect my father to show up on my doorstep, but---" He straightened. "Don't even know why I mentioned it."

Sitting, Hiei jiggled a knee against Kurama's, spoke in English. "Looking forward to the American audience?"

"I hope it's true. What your voice coach said."

"That I have no vibrato?"

"That appearance matters more than ability."

"Keh. Don't worry about either in your case. Now me---"

"You'll do fine, too."

"Yes. Me and my no vibrato."

"Stop it." The sounds of Yuusuke and Kuwabara battling it out with airplanes nagged at Kurama's memory. "The first time you went to America, you got into deep trouble." Involving, he realized, a plane, which went down over the Pacific.

"No, really?" Hiei gave that soft snort of a laugh. "But your meds got us out of it."

_I'm thinking of planes, he's thinking of El Chupacabra_. "You seem to forget that my powers have---"

"Don't you have a supply of drugs left? And don't they still work, even without your ki?"

"But when those are gone---"

"You'll just have to compound them like a regular pharmacist."

"I don't know..." Kurama kept half an eye on the game. Yuusuke had sent Kuwabara's plane spiraling down to earth, smoke trailing from its ruined wings.

"Worried about the gig?"

Kurama shrugged.

"Don't be. The audience will be too absorbed in me to pay you any attention: 'Oh, look at that poor man who has no vibrato.'"

Kurama did not quite say out loud: _If I'm worried about me, Hiei, then why is it you whom I see falling from the sky, blasted by flames not of your own making_?

But Hiei seemed incapable of mind-reading now. "You'll love the estate," he said. "And the family. You have something in common with the cousins already."

"Which is?"

"They also think I'm an arrogant, obnoxious jerk."

Kurama drew a deep, painful breath. His friendship with Hiei had blossomed into something akin to brotherhood---due in no small measure, he reflected, to the events of the past year.

Hiei was now more than just a battle ally and the first in the human world to know of Kurama's triad nature. He had matured into an amiable companion, as though death, however briefly he had experienced it, had purged him of the pretense of not caring.

Hiei, in the process of becoming. On the great arc of that swing between the old man and the new: its first shift had come about from battling and losing to Yuusuke. The second, Shay-san.

Kurama could not distance himself enough to understand what part he himself might have played.

Silence. The game had ended.

"Hey!" Kuwabara's voice scaled up. "You beat me!"

Yuusuke dusted off his hands. "What a shocker."

"Why, you---" growled Kuwabara. "You can't just write me off like that! I demand a rematch."

"What for? You know I'll only beat you a second time." Yuusuke rose and stretched. "Let's order a pizza!"

"Yes." Without turning his head, Hiei cut his eyes toward Kurama. "And it's coming out of _your_ salary."

0-0-0-0-0

Across town from the Kuwabara residence, in the Minato-ku district, Warehouse Four was also humming with activity. Redshirts crowded around the rack of surveillance equipment, monitoring the movements of people who had left the party. Others bustled back and forth between the big warehouse space to the office, bringing food and drink.

The Boss was on his feet again.

The water sprites had relented at last, chanting over the demon king for days, mystifying Carlos. When their song was finished, the Boss regained consciousness, weak but lucid again.

The Boss had lost some of his barrel-chested appearance, and a good part of his bluster, but his determination did not seem in any way diminished. With his canny black gaze he tracked the movement of the two oni serving them sake and octopus dumplings.

"America?" queried Carlos, in a voice that only the Boss would hear. "Forgive me saying so, but---isn't that beyond your reach just now?"

The Boss gave the ghost of a shrug. "I'm done screwin' around." He poked at the octopus without enthusiasm, and waved away Carlos' offer of sake. "When the target comes back, he's gonna see what we did here while they was gone."

At the office door, both oni gave a ragged cheer.

-30-

(To Be Continued: Only In America)


	22. FS C21: Only In America, pt 1

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C21: Only In America p.1: Blessed Garden

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: M/T

Summary: Hiei and company are out of reach, but others, left behind, are not.

A/N: As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews! Accompanying sketches are up on my LJ homepagey.

LJ Tag: PaleoHiei reappears.

Firebird Sweet C21: Only In America (part one, Blessed Garden)

by

Kenshin

Kurama's nerves, already frayed, were at concert pitch by the time the plane took off.

Not because of sad good-byes; Kaasan had seen them all off with a cheerful demeanor and warm wishes, echoed by the others.

And not because they would be spending two weeks in unfamiliar territory. He was fairly certain that California was civilized and that the Kidds would welcome them.

And not because of any particular fear of flying. Kurama knew the statistics. One was far safer traveling by airplane than automobile.

Maybe it was the growing sense of unease about the concepts of "Hiei" and "airplane." Like a man who had been blinded and deafened, he might lack some of his senses, might now be nothing more than Minamino Shuuichi, but he yet retained the sense of a warning, the vague impression of impending doom.

Perhaps doom took the form of his seating arrangements. As the members of Romantic Soldier were unable to sit together, Kurama found himself up front, next to an elderly Japanese gentleman occupying the window seat. The old man alternated between mumbling in his sleep and loud, ratcheting snores.

_I need a drink_. With the cabin's dry air already beginning to parch his throat, Kurama lifted his head, hoping to catch the eye of a flight attendant. Instead he caught sight of Hiei, who came forward to kneel in the aisle.

"Watch your bad knee," Kurama cautioned automatically.

Hiei replied with a snort and an amused glance at Kurama's hands, now clenched on the arms of the seat. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a white-knuckle flyer."

"It's the snoring," Kurama lied, inclining his head toward the old man who lay open-mouthed against the window. "Makes me a little nuts."

Another look from Hiei made Kurama pry his hands from their deathgrip on the seat. At least now there was someone to talk to.

Still low in the aisle, Hiei smiled up at him. A sweet smile, charming in its innocence. "Ever see the Kidd estate?"

"Only the pictures."

"Impressive place."

Kurama nodded, warming to the subject. "I look forward to seeing it in person."

"Thought you would." A familiar smirk spread over Hiei's features. "But just a word: if you steal so much as a towel, I will take a long, long time ripping off your head and feeding it straight to your neck."

The remark blindsided him. Kurama's lips compressed into a bloodless slash.

Hiei rose, then strolled back to his own seat, leaving Kurama to fume in silence.

A bitter seed of ice formed in his heart. He tried willing it away, but the taunt stung.

_Fine. Let the plane crash_, Kurama thought. _Just as long as I have the only parachute_.

0-0-0-0-0

"Stupid girl's out playing with the birdies again," the purple oni stated, in its surprisingly little voice.

Purple was right; the target's sister walked beneath the boughs of a towering pine, small gray birds fluttering around her. Carlos shifted his gaze between one monitor and the next, as the surveillance cameras picked out the honey-haired beauty who was the tall boy's sister; then the dark-haired, sweet-faced woman who had raised the fox-boy, and lastly, the delicate, ice-haired girl.

"Well? What about bird girl?" suggested the purple oni, big and brutal and filled with glee.

The demon king studied each screen in turn, his flat black eyes hard and measuring. Only Carlos and Purple were watching the monitors with him; the others crowded against the far wall, gaming with the human-bone dice.

But when the Boss gazed upon the ice-haired girl, his expression changed, became almost one of longing. Carlos had to wonder at its meaning.

"Got the chopper stashed nearby," urged Purple, leaning in closer. "Sure, the old broad who lives there might be a tough customer, but all of us attacking together could---"

Abruptly, the demon king shoved his chair back. "Shut up," he said. Purple closed its jaws with an audible click. "I'm still ruler around here, not you."

Then the Boss jerked his head at Carlos. "That other building---your men ready there?"

With a quelling glare at Purple, Carlos replied, "Yes, for some time now." He thought of Tasco and Gutierrez, getting antsier by the minute in the rose-brick building.

"I'll decide later," said the Boss.

_So, little girl_, thought Carlos. _You live another day_.

Unaware of his scrutiny, she knelt at the base of the tree. When she rose, in her hand she clasped a white flower.

0-0-0-0-0

Hours into the flight, Kurama was still nursing Hiei's insult instead of his ginger ale. His unsettled gaze roamed from the muttering old man to the unread book in his hands to the stewardess strolling down the aisle with the meal cart.

Would Hiei have spoken that way to him if he still had his powers?

In spades.

_Miserable little fire demon_, Kurama told himself. _Just when you think he's become an amiable companion, he turns back into Paleolithic Hiei_.

0-0-0-0-0

The Kidd estate has been likened to Otoka, famed mansion on Long Island's Gold Coast, though it stands on a mere ten acres, not forty, and is situated near Palo Alto. Frequently written up in architectural magazines, it is a Normandy-style manor featuring, among other things, a lake, two swimming pools, a tennis court, cabanas, conservatories, and the beginnings of a rudimentary recording studio in its cellars.

Shayla Kidd suspected the studio had been installed for their benefit. Returning to this haven of peace and beauty made her feel like a sleepwalker in a waking dream.

With all the greeting and fussing done, and Hiei giving Kuwabara and Yuusuke the fifty-cent tour, and Kurama inspecting the conservatory, Shayla Kidd found refuge in the wood-paneled library with Uncle Paul.

Her uncle lavished attention on the twins, who sat in their stroller near his desk. "Aww, look at these perfect little angels. They've even got the Kidd eyes!"

With her own Kidd eyes, Shayla drank in the sight from the north windows that faced her aunt's favorite gardens.

She turned from the window at last. "Where are the girls?"

"Mary's at school, thank goodness. Honestly, I love her, I love all my daughters, but I can only imagine her reaction to seeing so many, er, interesting specimens of exotic boyhood in the same place."

"She'd be like a kid in a candy store," Shayla assured him.

"Kathleen's interning," Paul continued.

"At a hair salon?" Every time Shayla saw her middle cousin, who was her own age, Kath had a different hair color and style.

Paul grinned. "She wishes. A law firm, near L. A."

"And Francie's still---"

"Trying to give up cigarettes. And working as an aide to the governor, of all things."

"Poor governor," said Shayla. She knelt in front of the stroller.

"Look, Sweetie---back then. We wanted to take you in. But Grandpa had custody and he would have---"

"I know." Cecilia grabbed her forefinger. Michael smiled up at her. Was this what Hiei would have been like, born to a family that wanted him?

"It's just that I feel I haven't done enough for you."

"You've done everything." But her voice was unsteady.

"Are you crying, Sweetie?"

"No, Uncle Paul." Extracting her finger from CeeCee's grip, she went back to the window. "Sorry. Must be my allergies."

"I'm not surprised. Your aunt grows every single species of flora in the known universe and they're all spewing pollen this time of year. I swear, it's like a bad Star Trek episode." He joined her at the window.

"I can see at least one person appreciates Aunt Carmel's green thumb," Shayla murmured, spotting Kurama's distinctive hair as he moved among the plants, shepherded by the smaller Carmel.

"Oh? That Minamino boy?" Paul grunted. "So he's got a thing for plants, too."

"You could say so."

"They ought to get along like a house on fire, then."

She turned to her uncle, throat lumping. When she was able to control her voice, she said, "Thanks for arranging this gig. And I really appreciate the chance to see you all again."

"No problem, Sweetie. You know, you and that little samurai---"

Her lips twitched. "He's not a samurai."

"You two could really make a career out of this. I watched the tapes you sent. Good grief, he tears up the dance floor! And you can sing up a storm. You know you can."

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. The twins in their stroller blinked back at her. "I used to want to be famous. When I was little, in the convent school. Now all I want is to be a good mommy." She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of a hand. "Long flight," she quavered. "Dry air."

Paul nodded. "I understand. Want some eye drops or something?"

"Maybe." She went back to tracking Kurama and Carmel's progress through the gardens. It wasn't like her to get weepy with gratitude. It wasn't like her to get weepy, period. But in truth she wasn't feeling quite herself, hadn't been for a couple of days, and she couldn't chalk it up to jet lag.

0-0-0-0-0

Shay-san had told Kurama that her aunt had been a beauty queen. He could see why; Carmel Kidd looked as though she could still take the stage and beat down girls half her age. Not much taller than Shay-san, Carmel Kidd had mahogany hair and eyes, a voice heavy with southern charm, and lips that curved in secret amusement as she glanced up at him.

"Why don't we go on into the conservatory? If I correctly divine my dear sweet nephew-in-law, y'all are the boy who harbors a keen interest in plant life."

Kurama nodded, unable to speak. The contrast between the cool, fresh March air and the steamy atmosphere as they entered the greenhouse was not what struck him silent. It merely that he was no longer master of plants.

But then there were the plants themselves. Despite himself, Kurama's interest was piqued. The oval-shaped conservatory was some 40 feet long by 25 in length, and shimmered with intriguing tropical scents; Carmel Kidd walked him down the wide center aisle and pointed out exotic fruit trees, laughing as she showed him her 'vanilla orchard.' "This one little ol' orchid yields about five measly vanilla beans a year, but they're all ours."

Then there were planters full of miniature roses, and bulbs. Her hand hovered over a pink rose, then darted in to pluck up a tiny, golden narcissus. She held it aloft; Kurama squinted avidly. It did not appear to be a typical narcissus. Something about the petals was a bit different, but he couldn't seem to concentrate. _Wonder what it does?_ he thought, before realizing it would hardly matter to him now.

"Customs may take a dim view of transportin' live plants, so if you want any partic'lar specimen, I can mail you seeds---"

"Was I that obvious?" A flush warmed his cheeks.

"Goodness gracious, no." Carmel's hands made a fluttery, helpless gesture that did nothing to dispel her air of penetrating focus. "That's just li'l ol' me. I happen to be cursed with what y'all might call certain ... perceptions."

Kurama licked dry lips. Could this woman sense that he was not quite human? But of course, that was no longer quite true.

"You know, sugar," she murmured, "not everyone gets along all the time. Paul and I, we've had some real barn-burners."

_Gulp_.

"Oh," he said airily, "I'm used to squabbling with Hiei. It's become almost a hobby." So that had been obvious as well!

She laid a slim, cool hand on his wrist for a second or two. "Spring's just around the corner. The time of resurrection and rebirth. Let your mind be at ease. Whatever it is, you're gonna be just fine."

Kurama sipped in a startled breath. Was this woman psychic, or simply as perceptive, in her motherly way, as his own Kaasan?

He had no way of knowing, but he followed her around the well-tended greenhouse, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei was tired. Glancing across the landing-field-sized dining room table, he could only imagine how his firebird was feeling. She seemed to be relying on caffeine to bring her around; this was her fourth cup.

Dinner had been served early, taking into account jet lag, and the need to get to the country club. Whether they were exhausted by the long flight or not, Hiei thought, Yuusuke and Kuwabara were on their best behavior, displaying actual table manners. He flicked a glance at Kurama, wondering if he'd gotten over whatever spooked him on the plane, but the redhead sipped coffee, his gaze fixed on the gold demitasse cup.

_Better not be planning to steal it_, thought Hiei.

There was a commotion out in the hall. Laying down his own cup, Hiei extended his senses, but there was no _youki_; just scuffling, slamming doors, various exclamations of surprise.

And then someone appeared in the dining room doorway, arms flung dramatically out, her hair stiff with excitement, or maybe too much gel. Pink-cheeked, an entire chandelier's worth of earrings dangling, she cried out breathlessly: "Am I too late for dessert?"

Uncle Paul shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, Lord," Carmel muttered. "Mary's here."

0-0-0-0-0

It was a tight squeeze in the limo, but Shayla Kidd fit nicely in Hiei's lap. She maneuvered Mary into the jump seat so her cousin would be unable to inflict the same seating arrangement on Kurama.

Yuusuke and Kuwabara seemed a little overawed, tired, yet game; Kurama was withdrawn. For that matter so was Hiei, despite an armful of Shayla. Maybe he didn't like flying.

The twins had stayed home, under the expert and effusive care of Aunt Carmel.

Shayla was tired too, but feeling a touch better than when they had arrived, no doubt due to the excellent dinner.

Dusk was falling as they approached The Seacliff Country Club. The newly-refurbished building was situated near a bluff overlooking the Pacific ocean, nestling like a jewel amidst rolling greens, the golf course, and the swimming pools.

"Hard to believe it was a wreck this time last year," she murmured, as the driver pulled around back.

Yuusuke stretched and yawned, surveying the Cadillacs and Benzes in the parking lot. "Bunch of rich old farts," he snickered. "Not exactly our audience."

"Look on the bright side," Kuwabara said. "Old people will be too tired to throw stuff at us. But I wanna know where's all the screamin' fourteen-year-olds?"

"Right here," muttered Shayla, pointing to Mary.

"Hey!" Mary skewered her with a wounded glance. "I'm almost _twenty_."

"Never fear, I'll make it 'our' audience," said Shayla. "Start out with Firebird Lament, and throw in a couple of ballads in English to keep them paying attention."

"That's the spirit," said Mary, peeling her eyes off Kurama for a split-second.

The entertainment director, Jack Keegan, met them at the service entrance and led them through the long, bustling, gleaming kitchen. They exchanged glances. "Shades of the Crazy Dog Diner," said Yuusuke.

"Naah," countered Hiei. "This kitchen's _clean._"

A bit overawed by the sheer scale of things, they stuck close together. "Bet the venue's some teeny corner off the bar," said Kuwabara.

"Like that one we played back home," Yuusuke agreed.

"And we'll have to stand back-to-back in a circle just to fit," Kurama added.

"Kuwabara can balance the boom box on his head," Hiei said.

"And---"

They stopped, emitted a collective gasp, then fell silent.

There was a stage--a real stage, on the north wall of the huge, rectangular space. A dance floor of blonde wood gleamed under soft lights, with tables pushed back against the wall as workers bestowed a final polish.

"Welcome to the Vista Room," said Mr. Keegan.

At last, Shayla found her voice. "This," she informed the others, "is a far cry from the Crazy Dog Diner."

From the opposite side of the room, Uncle Paul strolled over to greet them. "Uncle Paul!" Her eyes were like saucers. "How did you ever land us this gig?"

"Heh, heh." Paul scratched the back of his head. "Actually I had to work a sort of deal."

"What sort of deal?" she wondered.

"In between sets, you bus tables and wash dishes."

"No, really."

"Really." With a cheery wave, Paul disappeared into the kitchen.

0-0-0-0-0

It turned out Uncle Paul had, after all, been kidding. He was an investor in the country club. Nepotism again. Shayla Kidd was too tired to object, and she could hardly deny the others a chance to play this beautiful venue.

Besides, Uncle Paul had been right: she knew she was the best vocalist of the lot, hands down, and this was not mere ego talking, but simple fact. Her voice was a gift from God, one she'd honed for many years.

Kurama ran a close second, always on-key, with a light, silvery quality, altogether easy on the ears.

Kuwa-chan, though a fearless stage performer, lacked support, and his pitch wavered, as did Yuusuke's.

Hiei.

No matter how he denigrated his own musical abilities and bemoaned his lack of vibrato, Hiei had a silken, hypnotic delivery, a gifted presence, dark and forceful.

Romantic Soldier had played for free in the park, for next to nothing in noisy dives, had won a fan base and some success. This venue seemed a pinnacle. She vowed to do it justice.

While Paul and Mr. Keegan conferred with the other Romantic Soldiers, Hiei scoped out the stage.

He wore a red satin baseball jacket, its sleeves pushed carelessly up to reveal sinewed forearms. Coupled with close-fitting jeans and a black tank top, the outfit effected her like a combination of jet lag, brain fog and pheromone overload: all she could do was stare, and she was certain a thin strand of drool was making its way from her mouth to the end of her chin.

Mary studied Hiei for a bit. "He's pretty," she concluded.

"Don't hate him any more?" Shayla arched an eyebrow at her younger cousin.

"Never did. Not really." Mary kept her voice low. "So this is what your samurai does for a living."

"He's not a samurai," Shayla said, distracted by Hiei's leap off the stage, his gunslinger way of prowling the dance floor.

"I thought you wrote me he was a martial artist or something," Mary said accusingly.

"He was. This pays more."

"You know, I think I can see him in some karate ring. He could wither his opponent by calling him a stupid woman."

Shayla snorted. "Calling your opponent a 'stupid woman' is a fast track to getting the crap kicked out of you."

"That's what he calls you, though."

"It's his way. I call him---" She stopped herself just in time to keep the words 'I call him stupid demon' from emerging. "---names as well." She added, somewhat waspishly: "Besides, we went through this already. Or did the sight of the redhead knock your memory for a loop?"

"What redhead?" said Mary, dreamily, her eyes glued to Kurama.

0-0-0-0-0

_What am I doing, saddled with a wife and kids? Surrounded with irritating boys and cousins and aunts and uncles? I should be out fighting, getting stronger---alone_.

Cloaked by the night, Hiei stood on the roof overlooking the grounds. Trees danced in the wind; from about a mile distant he heard the lap of water against the shores of the lake. He also thought he detected, somewhere, the faintest touch of _youki_, but even as he tensed to leap, to investigate, the sensation passed.

As did his brief wallow in bitterness. Fighting for its own sake meant nothing. Fighting to protect those you cared for---

Coming down from the roof, Hiei flicked into the open window to re-join his family.

(To be continued: "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours.")

-30-


	23. FS C22: Dragon Gambit

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C22: Dragon Gambit

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Something's up with the Dragon!

A/N: I don't usually do much squee-ing here (I figure you just want me to update without fuss), but the end is in sight! I mapped out the remaining FS story arcs, complete with timeline (many thanks to Jo-chan!), which is a huge relief.

Continued thanks to all those who read and comment. Accompanying illos on LJ homepagey!

"I'm glad Youko's dead!"

Firebird Sweet C22: Dragon Gambit (Only In America, part two)

by

Kenshin

It turned out the members of Romantic Soldier were not, after all, expected to wash dishes between sets. They had in fact their own dressing room, complete with bathroom.

Kurama's cool elegance, Kuwabara's all-out bravado, Hiei's silken darkness, Yuusuke's irreverent charm, and Shayla Kidd's stagecraft stood them in good stead; the Vista Room was full each night, the applause polite but consistent.

Halfway into the first week, cousins Kathleen and Francine arrived, lavished attention on the twins ("Are you SURE they're only four months old? Looks like they'll be talking any second!"), did the I'm-an-aunt dance and left again, without bloodshed.

Around the estate, Mary tried to teach the boys tennis. But Yuusuke wasn't interested, and Hiei was always elsewhere. Only Kuwabara showed a knack for it. Kurama might have made an excellent opponent, but he spent all his free time in the gardens, strolling, dozing, seeking peace.

0-0-0-0-0

The ice maiden forgotten for now and the chopper stashed at a small airfield, the demon who employed Carlos sought a target.

Again and again, the surveillance equipment in Warehouse Number Four lingered on Shizuru, Keiko, and Shiori. Again and again, the Boss would stroke a foreclaw against this monitor or that, wondering aloud: "Which of you's gonna die first?"

The Boss behaved like a man at a sumptuous buffet, undecided about which dish to select, and making a game of it.

But Carlos, his nerves strung tight, wondered when he would simply get on with the business of killing.

0-0-0-0-0

Early morning, lakeside at the Kidd estate, the air crisp and cold, Wednesday dawned. Halfway into the second week of Romantic Soldier's engagement, something had happened to Hiei.

On the lake's formal flagstone path, spangled shade danced in the breeze. The lap of water made a soft background murmur as Hiei led Shay-san away from the path into the woods. There, a small clearing surrounded by resin-scented pines had a stone bench waiting at its center.

Glancing about to ensure there were no followers, he sat her down. "I have something to show you."

She peered up at him, her expression nearly blank. There was no wicked smack of a sidelong glance, no wisecracks.

Hiei missed the teasing and banter. He supposed that dying, however briefly, took a lot out of a person---as did squirting out a couple of twins, no matter how small or cooperative. She had been moving slowly of late, far from her usual spritely composure, and the generous curve of her mouth did little smiling, even during rehearsals for a later video shoot.

If she didn't come round soon---"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, sure, sure," she said. "But you---you're _scared_. If I didn't know the kids were perfectly safe with Carmel---"

"Just take a look."

Her eyes held his, enormous now, glimmering gray under the moving lattice of sun and shadow. On the edge of the bench her knuckles showed white.

A candy-colored bird stopped to jeer at them, then sprang away with a rustle of branches.

Hiei felt oddly nervous, and it was rubbing off on her. "Take a look at what?"

"This." He hooked a finger under his Dragon ward---the black gauntlet fashioned for him by Kurama when the kitsune still had his powers.

"You'd better keep that on," she breathed, clearly uneasy. "Whether the Dragon's functioning or not."

But Hiei could not keep it on. He peeled the gauntlet. Gasping, she gave a little jerk backward.

"Look," he commanded.

In silence, she studied his Dragon arm. Again she raised her eyes to meet his. "How long has it been like that?"

He shrugged. "A day. Two."

The breeze stirred her fiery hair. "What do we do now?"

Joining her on the stone bench, Hiei warded his Dragon arm. Behind him, on the lake, ducks splashed. He didn't answer her. He didn't know how.

0-0-0-0-0

"You _shoved_ me!" Kurama snarled.

"It was only a bit of stage business!" shouted Hiei.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that---telepathy?"

"How about brains?"

Kurama countered with a word he had never before used in mixed company, then slammed into the bathroom, Hiei at his heels.

Shayla Kidd sat on the dressing room sofa, head in hands. Urameshi Yuusuke and Kuwabara Kazuma echoed her posture; Mary hovered protectively over the twins in their stroller.

_As if the Dragon's not enough to deal with_, thought Shayla.

"Mommy and Daddy are fighting," said Yuusuke. His attempt at humor fell dead on the floor.

"Hope they don't kill each other," muttered Kuwabara.

Shayla remained silent, listening to the steadily escalating stream of venom loosed between Kurama and Hiei.

"So," chirped Yuusuke, "does this mean no group notes?" Each night after they left the stage, Romantic Soldier would run through a critique of their performance. "Guess not," Yuusuke answered his own question.

A crash echoed from the bathroom, followed by another savage round of invective.

"Good to see those two getting along so well," said Yuusuke.

"Go to hell!" screamed Kurama.

"Know something?" Hiei's voice was black ice. "I'm glad Youko's dead."

Kuwabara winced.

"Oh, man," muttered Yuusuke.

Mary looked from one to the other. "Who's Youko?"

"Someone, ah, Shuuichi knew," Shayla interjected hastily.

A slam, followed by the clatter of trash cans, an aria of alley cats.

"Sounds like Hiei took the easy way out," said Yuusuke.

Kuwabara shook his head. "Hiei's not gonna ditch his kids."

Shayla settled on the floor next to the stroller, exchanging uneasy glances with Mary. As usual, the twins were sleeping through it all.

But it was Hiei who charged from the bathroom, not Kurama. "Idiot fox!" Chest heaving, Hiei surveyed their upturned faces. "What the f---" He caught himself. "What are _you_ looking at?"

"You're beautiful when you're angry," said Shayla.

Hiei seemed to deflate before her eyes. "It was a fighting song," he said sullenly.

"No, really?" She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"You handled that well," said Yuusuke.

Kuwabara agreed. "You've become the group diplomat."

"I could add something," said Mary. "But not in front of the kids."

"Nuts." Hiei thumped to the floor next to Shayla. The twins awoke. "Did you miss Daddy?" he purred, with a lightning-quick change in demeanor. "Did you behave for your Aunt Mary? Of course you did."

Yuusuke and Kuwabara sat like statues but for the trembling of their lips, clearly itching to tweak Hiei, but also clearly not wishing to be separated from their heads.

Hiei was right about the song. Soul 2 Soul was, Shayla reflected, one of her more successful tunes, showcasing each boy's voice to its best advantage. And it _was_ a fighting song.

Unlike when he danced, Hiei's performances with Romantic Soldier had consisted of hanging back, only approaching the mic to deliver his lyrics; even then he kept his hands in his pockets, fading away after his turn.

Tonight, however, he was up in Kurama's face, slashing the air like it was a battle.

Shayla wondered whether the change had to do with what Hiei had shown her just that morning near the lake.

"Crap." Yuusuke plucked a pair of drumsticks from the side table and began pounding out the Soul 2 Soul beat. "Our fifteen minutes of fame are officially up."

"It was nice while it lasted," agreed Kuwabara, mournfully accompanying Yuusuke on air guitar.

Hiei ignored them both. There was a long silence. Then, Mary rose. "Someone should go after him. Who's with me?"

0-0-0-0-0

Damn it, everything would _not_ be all right!

Reaching his room, Kurama slammed the door and locked it. At least no one had questioned his solitary return.

After tumbling from the bathroom window in an extremely undignified manner, he had walked to the main road and thumbed a ride back to the estate.

Carmel Kidd was mistaken. No rebirth was coming. _Maybe because I like her, and want so badly to believe, I convinced myself lolling around her gardens was the answer._

Kurama's room was spacious and comfortable, but tonight he took no pleasure in its luxuries. The balcony, which faced the tennis courts, was accessed by sliding glass doors. Under the moonlight the empty courts looked bleak. He yanked the long green curtains shut, then crossed the room and fell into bed.

Maybe the conflagration was his fault. Maybe he was afraid for himself, reacting badly to any sort of unexpected physical contact. Now it was not the girl, with her gun and her spells, who was the weak link in the team, but Kurama.

And maybe that made him prickly, angry, defensive. Turning over in bed, he squeezed his eyes shut.

There came a timid knock at his door, and Mary's soft, hesitant voice called: "Shuuichi?" Kurama refused to answer, hoping the darkened room would indicate he was asleep, not to be disturbed. It worked. At last her footsteps retreated.

For a time, his own breathing was the loudest sound in the room. They still had the rest of the week's contract to fulfill. He couldn't hide from Hiei forever, tempting as it seemed.

The hissing chink of sliders made Kurama open his eyes. He turned to face the balcony.

A shadow stood just inside the glass door. A shadow with crimson eyes.

"Kill him." As if talking to himself, the deep quiet voice persisted: "Kill him." The crimson eyes regarded Kurama's huddled form. "He's useless now."

Hiei, he whispered. Impending peril lifted the hairs on his scalp. Rising from the bed, Kurama tried to dodge past the fire demon and run, but Hiei backhanded him. Kurama slammed into the wall, slid, then sprawled to the floor, helpless.

Kurama hardly dared breathe. He knew Hiei was capable of killing---perhaps on some level even enjoyed it. He was a demon from Makai, powerful, self-interested, the veneer of civilization so easily peeled away.

Kurama could not fight back now. Not as Shuuichi. The day he feared had come: facing another demon in battle without his powers. But he never dreamed that demon would be Hiei.

He turned his head to the side, keeping track of Hiei from the tail of his eye.

"Now you've done it," said Hiei. Wreathed in flames, he sprang, sunk his claws in the fabric of Kurama's shirt, hauled him upright.

Then he spoke again. "_Kurama_."

"H-hiei?"

Kurama sat up, rubbed at his eyes. Hiei was standing just inside the sliding door.

So the crimson threat had been a dream.

_But what now_, wondered Kurama. _I cant defeat Hiei as I am. Talk him out of attacking? Scream like a girl_?

Hands in pockets, still dressed as he had been onstage, Hiei's appearance yet raised gooseflesh---the cannonball shoulders and sinewed arms seemed built for mayhem.

"What I said back then." Sliding his hands from his pockets, Hiei spoke. "That was bad, even by my standards."

Kurama shifted, ready for anything.

"But if one of you had to die---" In a blur of movement, Hiei reached the bedside. Kurama shrank back, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

"If one of you had to die," Hiei continued, "I'm glad it was him. He wasn't my friend. _You_ are."

And Hiei put out a hand, laid it on Kurama's hair and brushed it back, the way you would a child's.

Then bent forward. His lips brushed Kurama's forehead.

The moment flesh made contact with flesh, something stung Kurama, stung deep, like the pain of grasping nettles. Starting from his head, pain lit his nerves, shot tingling throughout his entire body, until he glowed with it and could not tell whether it was fire or ice.

Too much, too much! Something poured itself into him with lightning speed and burning intensity. The pain would kill him. _Stop! I'll die of it_. He thought he cried out.

And then, flick, Hiei was gone, leaving the long green curtains dancing in his wake.

0-0-0-0-0

It had been a dangerous, delicate gambit, but his blood whispered of success.

Now to sail through the treetops, now to spring from tree to tree past highways and buildings. The night, cool and dry, sang in him, lent him its wings.

As he traveled away from the estate toward the mountains on the east side of Silicon Valley, Hiei could hardly explain to himself why he had done such a thing to Kurama. He only knew it was necessary.

The significance of the kiss varies from culture to culture. In Makai, a kiss is often a ritual seal on murder.

In America, everyone kisses everyone else, all the time. It is greeting, bonding ritual, part of mating, mere friendship. Kissing's nuances confused and irritated him the first time he traveled to America.

That girl, Ronni Spencer, the one he and the team had saved from White Sands Serpent. Her parents had kissed Shay-san good-bye, and their little boys kissed her, too. Fortunately, the Spencers must have picked up on a warning in Hiei's eyes, and spared him the ordeal.

In Japan, even married people do not kiss in public.

There was a real danger that Kurama would misinterpret his gesture. The kiss had nothing to do with an expression of desire, nor was it a promise of death. However---

If you are a magical creature, you realize that on certain days, everything flows your way. Whether you count the influence of moon and stars, or biorhythms and blood, or heaven and earth, there comes the rare occasion when you cannot make a misstep.

Hiei knew tonight was one such time. Even the stage battle had been necessary, part of a scheme whose ultimate outcome remained unclear.

The night of the Heartblade. He remembered it now, all of it. His fool hesitation. The daring sacrifice of Youko Kurama.

A kiss can also breathe life.

The Dragon stirred on his arm as he flicked past civilization. Hiei launched a great, silent leap from a Douglas fir to a solitary redwood.

The Dragon had been changing since the twins were born. Possibly, it had to do with the massive transference of Kurama's ki---the act which had wiped out King of Thieves Youko.

Stripping his gauntlet, Hiei looked at the Dragon. It opened one eye, regarding him with sleepy curiosity.

"I get it," he said to the moon. "Finally."

The Dragon, acquired at great cost, was controlled by means that even Hiei had not fully understood. He had often thought that its ravening, powerful nature wasted energy. What use was a weapon you couldn't control as exquisitely as you could sword or fire? The slaughter of innocent bystanders due to an unmastered power (one which knocked you senseless to boot) seemed idiotic.

He understood what the voice coach meant. Hiei had not told the others why that man made him take off his shirt. It was not just for embarrassment's sake, or the later amusement of the fox.

What the coach told him also meshed with Genkai's snipe against rookie Spellcasters: "Why do you always _shout_?"

"Thought as much," the voice coach had said, eyeballing Hiei's torso. "You're overdriving." He had gone on to say that Hiei's strength could damage his vocal cords. What he needed to support his voice was not more force---but less.

The Dragon, powered now by different fires than the flames of Makai, had resisted Hiei's commands until tonight.

Tonight, his balance and speed had returned. He was an arrow in the dark, air and fire alike.

For the first time in memory, Hiei was conscious of his appearance, a composition in black and white, sleeveless shirt rippling in the breeze like a ghost, white Jagan ward, black-and-white hair, all against black sky silvered by the moon. Black and white: yes and no, nothing in between, no shades of gray.

He spoke in his mind to the Dragon: _Will you come out_?

The Dragon shifted with a sensation like minute claws tickling his skin. Facing in the direction of the Santa Cruz mountains, Hiei took off again.

When at last the mountains thrust up beneath him, Hiei landed atop another redwood. He spoke aloud. "Down in the hollow, about a mile away. See that dead oak?"

Maybe he should have been afraid of unleashing the Dragon alone, with no backup if he lost control. Curious, how he felt no fear. The Dragon pattered against his flesh.

Hiei raised his Dragon arm. "GO!"

0-0-0-0-0

The following day, Romantic Soldier caught up on their notes, meeting in the estate's airy second-floor lounge. The room was decorated with overstuffed floral chairs and couches, set off by dark polished wood and Oriental carpets.

Yuusuke and Kuwabara stuck close together, and Mary glued herself to Kurama.

Hiei, after accompanying them back last night, had been restless and unable to sleep and had gone out again, only to drag himself back home toward dawn, exhausted.

Shayla Kidd wondered if it had to do with the Dragon.

Now Hiei sat apart in an armchair off the end of the coffee table. A big-screen TV inside a sleek cabinet lay against the opposite wall.

Surrounding Kurama was a glassy calm as he courteously handed Mary a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself. He did not look anyone in the eye.

Glancing at the others, Shayla cleared her throat. "About that 'fight,'" she began.

"I overreacted." Kurama stared at the cup in his hands.

"I should have warned you." Hiei pushed a plate of cookies toward Kurama but the boy did not react.

As an apology, the exchange barely registered, but it would have to do. Shayla did not want to spend the rest of her life making peace between Kurama and Hiei. She needed her strength to conduct the meeting; all week, even during dance rehearsals, she had struggled to hide her pain. She supposed a doctor visit might be in order once they got home, but for now, she merely raised an eyebrow. "Interested in how the audience saw it?"

Kurama made a little awkward move, as though about to get up and leave. He tried to cover up by reaching for the carafe of coffee. Hiei remained impassive.

"If there are no objections?" Leaning forward, she took up the TV remote and pressed Play.

The video was blurry, not professionally lit or lensed, and the sound muddy, but it was clear that Romantic Soldier was onstage and performing. Hiei raised his own eyebrow at her. "When did you film this?"

"I didn't." In answer to the questioning looks all around, she explained, "Uncle Paul had it done; I only found out today."

Kuwabara and Yuusuke murmured to one another. Kurama's eyes widened. Even Hiei leaned forward.

They watched. On the screen, Hiei gave Kurama a little straight-arm chuck; and then Kurama shoved back, and sparks began to fly. Little by little, the placid Country Club crowd put down their drinks, stopped eating, and came to attention. One woman at a table near the stage lifted a forkful of grilled salmon to her lips, where it froze, forgotten. The song ended to a standing ovation.

"Holy cow." Mary gave out an admiring whistle. "Never saw anyone forget to eat before."

Shayla turned off the TV. "When Hiei got up in Minamino-kun's face, they all forgot to eat."

Kuwabara and Yuusuke exchanged hi-fives. At last Hiei and Kurama made eye contact with one another, nodding.

"In short," she went on, "I'd say keep it in the act."

Yuusuke snagged the plate of cookies. "Guess our fifteen minutes ain't up just yet," he said.

-30-

(To be continued: There's good news and bad news---which first?)


	24. FS C23: Doctor, Doctor

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C23: Doctor, Doctor

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Danger threatens, both at home and abroad.

A/N: Just want to repeat, FYI: I envision the **Japanese** voices here. Accompanying sketches are up on my LJ homepagey. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

LJ Tag: "Did you hear something?"

Firebird Sweet C23: Only In America (part three, Doctor, Doctor)

by

Kenshin

"Listen!" Minamino Shiori stopped in the middle of the fog-bound street, apprehensive. "Did you hear something?"

She and Hatanaka-san were headed for a late-night movie to see the revival of Miyazaki's _Nausicaa_. Such fog was not terribly unusual for mid-March, but this particular mist threatened to engulf them as they passed the darkened Yukimura diner. Shiori edged closer to Hatanaka-san, who gave her a puzzled glance. "Did I hear what?"

Now she just felt silly. "I--I suppose it was nothing," she said.

But over in Minato-ku's Warehouse Four, a demon lord watched the surveillance monitors and smiled.

0-0-0-0-0

Friday dawned clear and hot, and Kurama dressed quickly. Glancing out his window toward the tennis courts adjacent to the main pool, he counted heads.

The person he wished to see was not there. Then he remembered the second, more secluded pool on the estate, set in a hollow near the woods, the place you'd go if you wanted to be alone.

And this had to be done alone.

The flagstone steps leading down to the pool were staggered, almost like a spiral staircase, forcing Kurama to exercise caution as he played follow-the-ki.

Unlike the Olympic-sized main pool, this little gem was a kidney-shaped affair, far too small for serious swimming and partly shaded by the surrounding trees. There was, however, more than enough sun to make the concrete sing with heat. Kurama was glad of his shoes.

His target was stretched on a chaise lounge, sunbathing, eyes shut as tight as his black Speedo, sparked with water-diamonds as though he'd just emerged from the pool; a trail of damp footprints leading to the chaise confirmed this.

Sliding a camera from his pocket, Kurama fixed the target in his sights.

"Take a picture," came Hiei's lazy, sun-soaked drawl. "It'll last longer."

"Already did." Kurama dragged a heavy wrought-iron chair over the hot concrete to settle next to Hiei. "In fact, any number."

A crimson eye winked open, regarded Kurama steadily. "A video camera? Give me that." Hiei made a not-very-serious grab for the camera, then, as if the effort had exhausted him, shut his eyes again.

"Not a chance." Kurama safely pocketed the camera. "I've appointed myself the Romantic Soldier archivist."

"Don't bury yourself in the part."

"Why aren't you up at the main pool, frolicking with the others?"

Hiei pulled himself into a seated position, catching one knee with that unconscious grace of his, both eyes open now. "Two words: Mary."

"That's one word."

"Don't contradict me. Mary, Mary, quite contrary. Can't decide whether to crush on me, or you."

"Better you than me."

"Poor Minanino-kun. Sweet sixteen, never been kissed."

"Have _so_. In fact Shay-san---"

"Keh." Hiei closed his eyes again, settling back against the chaise. "If you're talking about the night you forced us to participate in that Blossom of Truth game, I was there. That was a sister's kiss, a friend's kiss. Doesn't count. Unless you're talking about a time I wasn't."

"No, no," Kurama said hastily. "I assure you---"

"Mary's too old for you."

Kurama's lips twitched. "Mary's too old for herself."

"And why aren't _you_ up frolicking at the main pool with the others?"

"I was looking for you."

"Congratulations, your radar is intact. How about a swim?"

"Maybe later. Hiei, I---"

Hiei pried an eye open again, regarding Kurama critically: the long-sleeved flannel shirt, the comfortably faded jeans. "Overdressed much?"

"I'm a redhead with green eyes. You do the math."

"I'd pay good money to see you turn into boiled lobster."

"You are a cruel and vicious creature," stated Kurama, but he was grinning.

"My woman doesn't tan either."

"So that's why she was wearing a burka up at the main pool."

"You kill me." Hiei let his eyes drift shut again, utterly relaxed. His wet footprints were already drying in the heat; the water lay in a flat turquoise curve. The air still and they were secluded. There would be no better time.

"Hiei." Kurama leaned in close.

The patter of footsteps on flagstone interrupted him.

"Speak of the devil," groaned Hiei.

Mary came pelting toward them, looking as though she'd dressed in the dark. A wrinkled linen overblouse topped green capris that might actually have been put on backward. She was barefoot, wet hair plastered to her head, eyes wide with anxiety.

Kurama rose. This was not the aspect of a playful twenty-year-old chasing after her magnetic 'cousin' and his friend.

Mary came to a shaky halt, then leaned on her knees for a moment, breathing heavily. "It's Shayla," she began, and Hiei shot to his feet. "She doubled over at the pool. Mom called her own doctor and we're trying to get her into the limo."

Before the last sentence had left Mary's lips, Hiei was up the stairway like a rocket, leaving Mary to exchange uneasy looks with Kurama.

"Come on." The 'mission' could wait. Taking Mary's hand, Kurama followed in Hiei's footsteps.

0-0-0-0-0

Was there anything worse than that helpless feeling? Hiei forced his fists to un-clench as he stood in front of the house, close to the long black limousine.

"Ord'narily..." Carmel Kidd spoke with infuriating calm. "You'd have to wait months to see this man. But Dr. Cahill's gonna squeeze y'all in today because he is a sweetheart an' because it's an emergency."

Shay-san, paper-napkin pale, spoke through gritted teeth. "It's not an emergency." She clutched at the open limo door.

"No, of course not," said Carmel. "An' weepin' with pain hardly counts at all."

Hiei had 'persuaded' the others (by means of deathglares and threats) to give them some room, but that stupid, stubborn woman of his refused to get in the car.

"Besides, I just saw the doctor," Shay-san got out, releasing the door to grab at her middle.

"An' when would that be, Sugarplum?" Aunt Carmel eased the stroller carrying the twins into the back seat, accomplishing what Hiei, with all his threats, could not. "'Bout four months ago, when these little angels were born?"

"I'm not going," Shay-san repeated.

"The hell you're not." Finally, here was something that called for Hiei's particular skill set. Shoving her into the back seat, he got in after her, blocking any means of escape.

As the driver shut the door, Hiei glanced back at the house. The boys and Mary were gathered in a worried knot in the semi-circle of the flagstone driveway. Shay-san's collapse had scared them nearly as much as it did him.

Carmel climbed in beside the driver and rolled down the window. "Now don't you fret," she informed the others. "We'll call from the office, an' be back before y'all even miss us."

_If Kurama still had his powers ..._ thought Hiei, then shook it away. _What? None of this would happen? Wishful thinking_.

He knew Shay-san had been feeling poorly. Typical of her, she struggled to hide it. Had his continued presence in her life somehow damaged her?

Torn between remaining strong and longing to give comfort, he was struck mute. If life without her was unthinkable, why was it still so difficult to send love from his mouth?

The last thing he saw before the driver pulled away was Kurama's wide green eyes, almost as pained as his own.

0-0-0-0-0

A couple of blocks south, new buildings were going up, and old ones were being renovated. The notorious Myu-Myu district, Carlos noted, was indeed becoming gentrified.

Not that this urban renewal could sweeten the stench of rat piss and mildew wire permeating the rose-brick building where his men waited. But it would make his job easier.

He supposed you'd get used to the smell in time, but Carlos had no intentions of a leisurely visit. Wrinkling his nose, he ducked inside and quickly mounted the stairs.

Tasco and Gutierrez were holed up on the twelfth floor, in the Boss' former stronghold. Heavy men, dark and squat, they were immersed in a card game. At the sound of his footsteps they jumped up, startled. Gutierrez reached for his gun before recognizing Carlos. Sheepishly, he slid the weapon back in his jacket, then he and Tasco crowded round Carlos, starved for news.

"It won't be much longer," Carlos assured them, in Spanish. "The Boss is getting ready to make his move."

Carlos left the rose-brick building, switching his thought-process back to Japanese. He set out in search of the jaki who was their liaison to both Ozawa Hideo and the far more deadly Azuma Ken. He had jobs for them, as well.

0-0-0-0-0

The waiting could have been worse, Kurama reflected. True to her word, Carmel Kidd had phoned from Dr. Cahill's office.

He and Yuusuke and Kuwabara had then retreated to the second-floor lounge where Romantic Soldier would discuss their notes. There, they managed to distract themselves with television. "Brush up on your English," Kurama suggested.

"What for?" groused Yuusuke. "We're on the verge of going back to Japan." But Kurama knew the Spirit Detective was just suffering from his own brand of worry.

When Hiei at last entered the room with the twins, Yuusuke and Kuwabara rose, and Kurama along with them.

Kuwabara asked the question that was on all their minds. "She's really okay?"

Hiei nodded. A palpable sense of relief filled the room.

"Where is she?" Yuusuke asked.

"Sleeping it off," Hiei said. "Doctor gave her some pills."

"What was wrong with her?" Kurama wanted to know.

Hiei made his way to the loveseat facing the window, and took his time settling Michael and Cecilia next to its overstuffed floral opulence. With his back to the others, he said, "The gynecologist---"

"WHOA!" Yuusuke held up a hand; Hiei turned.

"Time out, man!" continued the dark-haired boy, the amplitude of his alarm almost comical. "This wouldn't by any chance involve icky girl stuff?"

Kuwabara grimaced, but held his tongue.

"That's what 'gynecologist' means," Kurama reminded them.

"LALALALA I'm not listening!" Yuusuke jammed his fingers in his ears.

"Me either," agreed Kuwabara, who stopped just short of mirroring Yuusuke's actions. They both retreated to the safety of the TV, turning up the volume until it rattled the speakers. When they hit pay dirt with an old Bruce Lee flick, they settled in about six inches from the screen.

Kuwabara twisted his upper body around to face them. "Glad she's okay, though," he shouted, over the noise.

Yuusuke didn't bother twisting. "Me too."

Kurama moved close to Hiei. "Shay-san's really all right?"

Hiei faced the picture window overlooking the lake.

At last he turned away from the view and sat, toying with a dish of wrapped candies on the coffee table. He scooped some up, then opened his hand, allowing the candies to fall back into the dish, a shower of silvered paper. "Stardust."

Some odd note in Hiei's voice made Kurama pay attention.

"Do you believe in miracles, Kurama?"

A faint smile touched Kurama's lips. It was for that very reason he wished to speak to Hiei in private, a reason which he was now eager to divulge. "Maybe I do."

"According to the doctor, these babies shouldn't exist."

_That was unexpected_. Kurama joined Hiei on the couch. "And by that Dr. Cahill meant...?"

"Shay-san. She has some condition that makes certain things extremely painful." Hiei spoke rapidly, not meeting Kurama's gaze. "As we saw. It's not life-threatening, but he said it's near-impossible for her to conceive."

Not life-threatening. Kurama blew out a breath of relief. "You look like you just went ten rounds with Toguro yourself."

"The doctor sent her home with a shoebox full of drugs. She's lucky if she wakes up in time for tonight's gig."

"I could always go to her bedside and threaten to sing her part."

Hiei gave one of his soft, snorting laughs, then leaned forward, let his hand trail over the twins' stroller. "What the doctor said---well, at first he asked whether these two were adopted. And then he really looked at them."

Kurama understood. Even at not quite four months, Michael bore Hiei's stamp; Cecilia was remarkably like her mother.

"He still couldn't believe they began life the normal way." Another snort. "I told him I was there, I ought to know."

Kurama regarded the twins. They looked back at him.

"Maybe I have you to thank. Maybe those potions of yours---the ones that saved my firebird's life when El Chupacabra got her---maybe they also made the twins possible."

"Any time." Kurama reached for the little girl, settling her into his lap.

"I really, really advise against that," said Hiei, and seconds later Kurama understood. CeeCee grabbed one of Kurama's forelocks and would not let go.

"Hey!" It _hurt_. The baby seemed to find it amusing.

So did Hiei. "Once she initiates the Vulcan Deathgrip, there's no way of prying her off you," he said. "We may be forced to amputate your hair."

"That would be unfortunate," gasped Kurama.

"The only other thing that works is distraction."

"Then distract her!"

Hiei bent toward the baby. "Look! Isn't Daddy's hair much more interesting than that silly Minamino-kun's?"

"Apparently not." Kurama winced, his neck muscles straining against the grip of a laughing, gurgling baby _hanyou_.

"Don't pull back. It only makes her grab harder."

"Thanks for the warning," muttered Kurama. The instant he relaxed, his head was yanked forward, almost into his own lap.

"They're so cute at that stage," sighed Hiei.

"I'm going bald here," Kurama warned. The other boys, jeering at the movie's less-than-sparkling dialogue, seemed oblivious. "Spots are dancing before my eyes."

"Details, details." With one hand, Hiei grabbed Kurama's forelock above CeeCee's fist, easing the pain somewhat. With the other hand he snagged a piece of candy from the coffee table and waved it. It rustled and flashed in an intriguing manner.

Mewling, the baby dropped Kurama's hair in favor of the new toy. Hiei deftly snatched her out of reach of Kurama's hair, though a couple of long red strands remained in her chubby fist.

Kurama straightened. "I have no feeling left in my neck."

"Take him instead," Hiei instructed, plopping Michael onto Kurama's lap. "He's harmless---unlike his father."

The boy looked up at Kurama with wide, measuring gray eyes. "Thanks," said Kurama, dryly. But Michael did nothing more sinister than to lean toward the glittering candy dish.

Francine and Kathleen Kidd had been right; the twins were far more advanced than human children of the same age. At three months, human infants can see objects about ten inches away, and can sit up with support, and even roll over.

These were more like six-month-olds, sitting up with no support whatever, crawling on their own as well.

Abandoning his attempt at the candy, Michael twisted his head around and caught Kurama's eye again, as if to say, _So I'm a superior creature---what of it_?

Kurama laughed softly. Hiei, Kurama noticed, kept his own head well out of CeeCee's reach.

The blare of the television provided a sound screen as effective as a white-noise generator, and Hiei's close-range hearing was acute. When the crisis was thrust upon them that morning, there had been no time to speak; now that it was over and Shay-san was all right--- "Hiei," Kurama began.

The door burst open to admit Mary, her eyes lighting up: "Oh, there you are!" Darting across the room, she settled happily on the floor next to them.

She had changed from her earlier garb into a yellow sundress, and her short hair was not only dry, but artfully styled. Glancing from Kurama to Hiei, she chirped. "You must be relieved."

"In spades," Hiei agreed.

"I'm relieved too," Kurama reminded her.

"Shayla's out like a light," she nattered on. "Maybe I could take her place at the Vista Room tonight."

"Oh, look." Hiei pointed out the window.

"Look at what?" Mary craned her neck.

"A pig just few by," Hiei retorted.

Mary sniffed. "Did _not_."

"You Kidd girls," said Hiei, "are a handful."

"Are _not_." Mary reached forward, gathering Cecilia in her arms. Her hair, Kurama noted, was short enough to avoid the Vulcan Deathgrip.

Kurama kept half an ear on the banter; Hiei was no doubt grateful for the opportunity to let off some steam with his young cousin-by-marriage. But it was clear that Mary wasn't going to leave them in peace anytime soon.

And the news was burning a hole in his pocket. Kurama felt like a schoolboy, dying to show off his latest grades, yet being forced to wait.

Since the night of their stage battle, Hiei hadn't said a word about the weird scenario that took place afterward in Kurama's room. Fairly typical of him. _But_, Kurama reflected, _why not just request a word in private?_ There were any number of empty rooms on the second floor where he could speak with Hiei. And Mary, despite their teasing, was proving to be an admirable guardian for the twins.

Catching Hiei's eye, Kurama began, "I wonder if we might---"

The door opened again. Betty, the Kidd's elderly housekeeper, came tottering in. Speaking rather loudly, both to accommodate her own deafness and to make herself heard above the TV, she informed Hiei that Shay-san was awake---and in the middle of a full-scale crying jag.

"Probably the meds," Kurama reassured him.

But Hiei rose, addressing Mary. "What did I tell you? You Kidd females will be the death of me."

"We'll look after the twins," Mary promised, as Hiei followed the housekeeper out of the room.

_Another opportunity lost,_ thought Kurama, careful to give Cecilia and her starfish hands a wide berth.

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss had called off his attack on the Minamino woman, claiming unfavorable conditions. Carlos, seated behind the fire demon in the corner devoted to surveillance, wondered when his employer had turned so fussy. He was reminded of the Three Bears: this victim was too strong, this one too unimportant, that one too public.

Little Gray was struggling to find him one that was 'just right.'

"That leaves these three." The gray-skinned oni pointed to one of the monitors. "And they have late-night habits."

The demon king's black eyes narrowed. He nodded in assent. "Fine. Whatever it takes, go ahead. As long as it's quick. The target's coming back in a couple days and we ain't gave him a present yet."

(To be continued: Kurama's surprise revealed!)

-30-


	25. FS C24: Rose and Dragon

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C24: Rose and Dragon

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: What should have been a happy occasion turns into a threat.

A/N: I invite you over to my LJ homepagey, where my accompanying sketches are up. This is probably one of the shortest chapters I've ever posted; in fact I might update twice this week! As always, I thank you for reading this, and really appreciate your reviews.

"If you ever do that again---"

Firebird Sweet C24: Only In America (part four, Rose and Dragon)

by

Kenshin

Kurama, it turned out, had no further opportunity to corral Hiei.

Wobbly from Dr. Cahill's meds but ferociously game, Shay-san insisted on performing with the band that very night, and it took the whole group's concentration and vigilance to keep her from tumbling off the stage. Each time Shay-san flung out her arms in one of her extravagant gestures, she overbalanced, teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Whereupon Hiei or Kuwabara or Kurama or Yuusuke caught her, making it seem like part of the act.

All the way home from the club, Hiei ragged her about it, then the two of them disappeared to their quarters.

Sighing, Kurama retired to his own room to think, away from the boisterous trio of Yuusuke, Kuwabara and Mary.

He had something to share with Hiei, and it had to be accomplished in a way that spoke of ceremony, of triumph. It must not be blurted in passing. And what fun it would be, watching Hiei struggle to mask his amazement.

But how to get the fire demon alone?

At last, Kurama resorted to the simple ruse of slipping a note under Hiei's door.

0-0-0-0-0

Yukawa Kenji and Ibuki were laughing as they left Club Aoyama. Lermontov wasn't scowling. That, thought Kenji, was a plus.

The three of them had developed an unlikely friendship, fostered in part by their involvement with Romantic Soldier.

The night was thick with fog. "I can't even see my hand in front of my face!" Ibuki slid a pink compact from her purse, then clicked it open to check her angelic features. "They _carded_ me," she squealed in delight. "Can you believe it?"

"You look perfect," intoned Lermontov, who was visible only as a hulking shadow in the fog. "Stop fussing with face."

Yukawa Kenji agreed. Ibuki did indeed look perfect, with that candy-floss hair and those enormous aquamarine eyes. Some day soon, he would tell her. But all he said was, "We're likely to get lost in this pea soup."

It was true; fog now fell in thick, slimy veils across them as they walked away from the jazz club. The air was cold to the touch, and more than a bit eerie. They could barely see one another. Their muffled footsteps on the sidewalk seemed ghostly.

"Is almost like London," agreed Lermontov.

"London has lots of cabs, right?" Ibuki's voice squeaked close to Kenji's ear; he felt her grope for his elbow.

"Maybe we can find one," he assured her. But the streets were deserted at this late hour---until something stirred ahead.

He stopped, Ibuki's hand still on his arm. Lermontov's footsteps stopped, too.

Kenji heard a faint scrape of sound.

The fog stroked his brow, covering him with inexplicable gooseflesh. Lermontov uttered a curse in Russian. At his side, Ibuki tightened her grip and whimpered. And Yukawa Kenji, who had never before in his life been possessed of a sixth sense, knew doom awaited. Gently disengaging Ibuki's hand from his arm, he whispered to her: _"Run!"_

And from somewhere up ahead came the slow, purposeful footsteps, and the faint outline of an approaching body, much too large to be human.

0-0-0-0-0

"It was you! You did it!"

Hiei's shout cut through darkness as he plummeted from the lip of the Kourime world. High above him, the Stranger leaned over, receding with each moment, his long black hair billowing away from pale, handsome features, turquoise eyes wide and calm.

The Stranger's lips parted. For the first time, he called Hiei's name, in a low, fluting voice.

"It was you," Hiei repeated, and the earth rushed up to meet him, and smashed him to bits.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei's eyes jerked open. He had not dreamed of the Stranger in some time.

Heart pounding, he sat up.

The sky outside their window was lightening to gray. Beside him, Shay-san lay wreathed in blankets. He needed the sight of her ribcage rising and falling to assure himself she was hard asleep, nothing worse.

Over in the corner, the twins stirred to wakefulness.

Slowly mastering his panic, Hiei considered the upcoming days. They had one more set---their farewell set at the Vista Room that night, followed the next day by a last rehearsal and shooting of their video for a client of Paul Kidd's. Then home.

As silently as possible, Hiei went to get the twins. But a folded piece of paper lying near the door caught his eye. Sticking it between his teeth, he took the note, the twins, and himself into the adjacent bath to get ready for the day.

When they emerged, Shay-san was still asleep, the fire-colored hair in disarray, the pink mouth slightly open, the eyes tight shut.

Could she hear his thoughts? He'd always been able to sense when she was in danger, but since the twins were born, sometimes he seemed to 'hear' her thinking. She must have worked hard to keep him from sensing her pain and subsequent collapse.

_Let the poor thing rest_.

Kurama's note had read: 'Meet me near the lake at your earliest convenience.' Quietly packing the twins into their stroller, Hiei addressed them in a stage whisper: "How about some fresh air? Hm? Then we can see what Kurama's up to."

0-0-0-0-0

The woods surrounding the Kidd lake provided deep cover, and, with dawn just breaking, as much privacy as Kurama could ask for. The fresh, cool breeze brought not only the scent of nearby water, but silverweed and horse chestnut and St. John's Wort---all plants he could now use.

The knowledge filled him to bursting, sent his blood racing. So diligently had he suppressed his feelings over Youko's loss that joy now bubbled up from an unstoppable wellspring. And soon he would have someone to share it with.

Kurama caught sight of Hiei as the fire demon rounded a corner, dressed in gray sweats that looked as if he had sawed off the sleeves with his katana. Feeling a great surge of affection, Kurama could not suppress a grin. Some things never changed.

Others had, as he couldn't wait to demonstrate.

Hiei strolled forward through dense undergrowth that crowded either side of the path. Kurama reached into his hair and withdrew a rosebud, fresh from Carmel Kidd's conservatory.

"Think fast!" he cried, loosing his Rose Whip. It sang in a graceful arc toward the fire demon.

Hiei would dodge it, silent with shock. And then he would come to congratulate Kurama.

And Hiei's head snapped up, the crimson eyes indeed wide with shock. But it was only then that Kurama realized Hiei was not alone.

Too late, Kurama saw the twins in the stroller; he had not sensed them, and the thick undergrowth had hidden them from view.

Horrified, Kurama flicked his wrist, struggled to call back his attack, but his newly-returned powers were still raw. The Rose Whip jerked once, then soared with renewed velocity toward Hiei and the babies.

Without seeming to move, Hiei put his body between the Whip and the twins, flinging up his ward-arm as a shield. The Rose Whip completed its arc, struck flesh. The thorns scored a red slash across Hiei's hand and wrist.

Kurama gasped. The Whip fell from his nerveless fingers. For a moment, nothing at all happened.

Then, taking exquisite care, Hiei lifted the stroller and carried it, twins and all, to the shelter of a rhododendron bush. The soft, reassuring murmur of his voice carried to Kurama's ears, though he could not tell what Hiei was saying.

_Hiei! Are you all right? Are the twins---_

Straightening, Hiei turned, and walked toward Kurama. His face was devoid of expression.

_Hiei, I'm sorry! I had no idea they were with you_! But the words never left Kurama's lips.

Neither did Hiei make a sound as he approached. Kurama inched back before the fire demon, giving ground, but still Hiei came on, in no apparent hurry.

When he was face-to-face with Kurama, Hiei raised his Dragon arm and peeled back the bloodstained gauntlet.

_Hiei, please! I didn't know_!

The Dragon arm was bare. And the Dragon---

The Dragon _moved_.

Kurama held his breath. The Dragon was looking at him!

Through a haze of shock, Kurama studied it. No longer resembling a mere tattoo, the Black Dragon turned its long, vicious head in a glare from eyes of molten gold. Steam floated from its nostrils to escape into the air. Twined on Hiei's arm, its tiny black scales, as distinct as those of _koi_, gave off a red-gold glitter at their edges. Not quite three-dimensional, it yet had the look of something alive.

If Hiei's arm was a movie screen, then Kurama could have lulled himself into believing this was a special effect. But he knew with dread certainty this was no illusion.

Kurama struggled to apologize, to explain, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.

When Hiei spoke in his soft lazy purr, with no more inflection than if he were giving a weather report, every hair on Kurama's scalp rose.

"If you ever come near my kids again," said Hiei, "you're dead."

Warding the Dragon, Hiei turned his back on Kurama. He made his leisurely way down the path. Reaching the rhododendron bush, he plucked the stroller from the bushes, sheltering it in his arms, murmuring more assurances. He went on his way, rounded a curve and was soon out of sight.

Kurama's legs trembled. Falling to his knees, he stared at the Rose Whip, lying in a serpentine before him, with Hiei's blood on the ground like a blossom.

(To be continued: the consequences of action)

-30-


	26. FS C25: Warehouse Blues

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C25: Warehouse Blues

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: A sought-after meeting goes wrong.

A/N: There you go---updated twice in one week, with possibly the shortest chaps you'll ever see from this author! I invite you to my LJ homepagey to view my accompanying illos. As always, I thank you for reading this, and appreciate your reviews!

"I didn't mean it!"

Firebird Sweet C25: Only In America (part five, Warehouse Blues)

by

Kenshin

At six in the morning, on Kurama's final Sunday in America, Palo Alto had certain traits in common with Tokyo.

There was a milk-warm quality to the air that spoke of spring, and as the long black limo pulled away from the Kidd estate, impressive mansions gave way to neatly-groomed houses, which in turn gave way to the first signs of Silicon Valley commerce: international computer concerns such as Hewlett-Packard, and Xerox Industries' famed Palo Alto Research Center.

To the east, the Santa Cruz mountains beckoned; the harbor lay to the west, but today, none of those were Kurama's destination. He thought he really should call Kassan---it had been a few days---but reminded himself that by this time tomorrow he would be on his way to Japan.

The period following the loss of Youko had been difficult, to say the least. Now that he could again manipulate plants, he had believed Hiei would react with amazement, perhaps even joy, and then struggle to hide his feelings, covering up with a crack like, 'So you were lying about the loss of your powers all along, you devious bastard.'

Now both Rose and Dragon were back, but nothing had occurred as planned.

Kurama took deep calming breaths as the driver turned down a tree-lined side street.

He had been unable to speak to Hiei since the unfortunate incident at lakeside. During Romantic Soldier's farewell set at the Vista Room, Hiei had simply pretended Kurama did not exist. If Shay-san or the others thought that unusual, they said nothing. Hiei and Shay-san again vanished directly after the performance. Kurama had at last informed Yuusuke and Kuwabara of his recovery. Their reactions were considerably more gratifying than Hiei's. As for the others---

An hour ago, Kurama met Carmel Kidd in her blessed garden; whether she was a habitual early riser or simply sensed he would be there, Kurama could not say. "I know just what you need, sugarplum," she'd told him, then beckoned the limo and driver. When Kurama got into the car, she skewered him with a sharp but benevolent glance. Raising one elegant eyebrow, she added, "An' I trust you're feelin' betta than the day you got here?"

He assured her he was, telling her, with genuine regret, how much he would miss them all.

But there were still some last-minute details to iron out. Hiei would relent. He always did, Kurama reflected, as the trees thinned out and small office buildings sprouted. _He stabs me in the gut, I fling blood in his eyes, he backhands me into a wall, I've lost count._

The limo driver turned into a small industrial park, well to the north of the estate.

Team Urameshi was a bit like a mobile, Kurama realized. Strike one part, and the whole vibrates and spins until it again reaches equilibrium. In aligning himself with both Rome and the girl, Hiei had sent the mobile on a brief lateral jog. The mobile was spinning again, and this time Kurama was the one who had sent it whirling. It was up to him to restore its balance. The thought left him with a trace of melancholy.

Oddly enough, so did the sight of the rehearsal studio. This was nothing more than a warehouse, very much like the ones near Tokyo Harbor where Hiei had first battled Yuusuke, and Kurama had intervened, much to Hiei's fury.

These warehouses, however, were nowhere near water, but lined up in the middle of a neat little industrial park, high and dry and expertly landscaped. The studio had a big metal door lying partway open, like a yawning mouth in the middle of its long gray face. Kurama stifled a yawn in turn, then assured the driver he would leave with his friends later. "No telling how long the shoot will run, so you might as well take off."

He watched the limo pull away, then slipped inside the warehouse to a familiar scene: lights, cameras, hurrying technicians, the seeming chaos of a last-minute rehearsal. It was do or die today. But Hiei and Shay-san, Kurama knew, were the masters of the single take.

Kurama spotted them in a corner close to the sound stage. Both wore loose, faded sweats, Hiei's in black, Shay-san's in an improbable shade of daffodil-yellow, her face glowing with full theatrical makeup. Carefully, she daubed at her brow with a green towel, which she handed off to a slim blonde girl, who then bent over the twins in their stroller. Shay-san joined the girl, her back to Kurama. No one marked his presence.

Hiei seemed to be in an excellent mood, joking with the crew, telling them that his "Princess Starfish" was already enrolled in Tokyo's most prestigious Catholic academy, St. Mary's. Kurama thought it a sure bet that the technical crew had no idea St. Mary's was a boys-only school.

_Too hip for the room, my friend_. This was a side of Hiei that Kurama could not have envisioned even three months ago, yet it suited the fire demon right down to the ground.

Kurama smiled to see it. When Hiei turned, meeting Kurama's gaze, Kurama waggled his fingers and Hiei strode to his side.

"Nepotism," said Kurama in greeting. "It isn't just for breakfast any more."

And Hiei took him by the arm. Hustling Kurama past a maze of equipment and startled technicians, Hiei shoved him into the dressing room.

_Uh-oh_.

Kurama's brief glance around the small room revealed a daybed, opposite a mirrored wall with a long dressing table. The dressing table was littered with theatrical makeup and paperback books; the bathroom door lay open at the far end of the room, a glittery dress in a plastic bag hanging from its hook.

Kurama tried to joke his way out of it. "It was the nepotism remark, wasn't it? I take it back."

Hiei responded by flinging Kurama against the wall, just missing the open bathroom door. The impact knocked Kurama's breath out, set the spangled costume swinging.

Eyes blazing, Hiei bared his teeth in a snarl that promised dismemberment and worse. "I told you to stay away from my kids or I would kill you. Looking to test that out?"

"Hiei, you never let me---"

"SHUT UP!" Hiei was on him in an instant. Kurama dodged, but there was little room here for hide and seek. And while the wound his Rose Whip had inflicted on Hiei would hardly engender this response (Hiei would count it as a mere scratch), when he got like this, there was no reasoning with him. Angry as he was, Hiei could indeed tear Kurama limb from limb and have plenty of time left to regret it later.

Kurama wasn't physically up to fighting Hiei, and his powers weren't yet what they once were. He knew that drawing the Rose Whip would only result in a battle to the death. Was there something he could use as a tranquilizer? Too late! Hiei went for him again.

The dressing room door burst open. Shay-san stepped in, pushing the stroller before her. Hiei whirled to face her "Get those kids out of here!" he spat.

"Why?" Shay-san was clearly puzzled. "What's going on?"

Hiei jerked his head toward Kurama. "They're not safe around him. He attacked---"

"I never attacked them! I only meant to show you---"

Shay-san interrupted. "Slow down! One at a time, please."

Silence. Hiei fumed, while Kurama did not take his eyes off the fire demon.

"Don't think I won't use Voice if you force me!"

Hiei put himself between Kurama and the stroller, glaring defiance. The twins peered up in curiosity. Michael puckered his brow. Cecilia held out her arms, begging to be picked up.

"Please, Hiei," said Kurama. "You never gave me a chance to explain! I only used the Rose Whip to demonstrate---"

"You used the Rose Whip?" Shay-san interrupted, turning to Kurama, astonished. "Your powers are back?"

Nodding, Kurama straightened his jacket---and then found himself with an explosive armful of squealing _gaijin_. For an instant, she caged his ribs in a hug that was surprisingly forceful in one so small.

"I couldn't even sense it," she cried, releasing him before Hiei could get out so much as a snarl. "You must still be be very weak."

"Strong enough to cut up a couple of infants," Hiei said, between clenched teeth.

"All right." Her tone of voice indicated she would brook no nonsense. "Now suppose you tell me exactly what took place."

A stubborn silence prevailed, during which Kurama shot a furtive glance at the still-seething Hiei.

Neither one of them wanted to begin, but it was Hiei who told Shay-san what had taken place yesterday near the Kidd lake.

She folded her arms. "A-ha," she said, making two distinct syllables of the word.

"Kurama attacked _your_ children with his Rose Whip," said Hiei, as if that bit of news would make her join Hiei in slaughtering Kurama on the spot.

It did not. She blew out a breath of exasperation. "Oh, Hiei, of _course_ he doesn't want to hurt the kids!"

"CeeCee pulled his hair the day before," Hiei muttered.

"She pulls everyone's hair."

"You weren't there. You didn't hear him yowling."

"It was a joke," Kurama interjected.

Hiei almost went for his throat again, but checked himself. "Were you joking when you launched an attack on my kids?"

"I thought it was just you---that you could evade it easily." Even as he spoke Kurama reddened, feeling foolish.

Hiei gave Kurama a scathing glare. "So you attacked _me_ with your Rose Whip. Lovely. And the hell with anyone or anything that was in the way?"

"That's not how I meant it," Kurama protested.

"Don't manufacture trouble where none exists," warned Shay-san. "Trust me---trouble will find you all by itself."

Uttering a violent curse, Hiei launched his fist at the wall---then again stopped himself in mid-motion.

A timid knock. The door opened to admit the young blonde who had taken Shay-san's towel.

Shay-san greeted her. "Yes, Meg?"

"Are you guys ready?" Meg asked. "'Cause if we nail this last rehearsal, you can get into costume and it's go time."

Hiei looked at the floor. Kurama tried to become invisible.

"I'm confident we can," said Shay-san.

"Great." The assistant knelt near the stroller, crooning to the kids. "Oh, aren't oo the sweetest widdle puddins? Does oo want Auntie Meggums to pick oo's up?"

Shay-san said dryly, "Just watch your hair." Giving Hiei and Kurama one final glance, she added, "I'm happy to see you both in one piece, anyway." Gripping the handles of the stroller, she followed 'Auntie Meggums' through the dressing room door. "Anytime you're ready," she called, then shut the door, leaving them alone.

For several heartbeats, Hiei looked at Kurama, his expression unreadable. The worst of his fury seemed to have dissipated. Though the girl could hardly be that calculating, Kurama wondered whether Shay-san's hug had served a dual purpose, reminding Hiei that Kurama, too, was someone she cared for. And her reaction was a lot closer to what Kurama had hoped for with Hiei---minus the hug and squeal.

Kurama sighed. "Do you seriously believe I would harm your children? That even Youko would go after a couple of helpless infants?"

Hiei turned to the long dressing table, straightened a book, eyed the powders and cleansers and pencils. "Stupid woman leaves her crap everywhere."

"Hiei. I thought you'd be happy for me."

Another long silence. The fire demon could have been a statue, his back to Kurama.

In the mirror's reflection, Kurama saw Hiei shut his eyes, open them again. "Give me a hand," he said, so softly that Kurama had difficulty making him out. "My knee wraps came loose, and they want me on-set."

(To be continued: back home, there's bad news)

-30-


	27. FS C26: Back Home part one

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C26: Back Home

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: 'Beware the Ides of March!' takes on new meaning for the boys.

A/N: As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews! YYH character sketches can be seen on my LJ homepagey.

'They've signed their own death warrant.'

Firebird Sweet C26: Back Home (part one, Arrival)

by

Kenshin

Father Joseph Tansi, on loan from the Nigerian Bishop to Tokyo's Immaculate Heart parish, had equal difficulties speaking both Japanese and English. But even his native Hausa tongue seemed inadequate to express his shock, upon learning of the tragedy that had taken place.

A gentle creature in his early 20s, Father Joseph was appalled that such things could occur in a civilized country like Japan. He pondered this on his way down the rectory stairs, and well into the small dining area that was wreathed in the aromas of cooking. He didn't pay much attention to the meal he picked up, except to ensure his tea was hot and there was plenty of sugar. Tray in hand, he glanced around, seeking the man who shared, at least, some of his difficulties with the Japanese language---and certainly his sorrow.

He spotted the tough little pit-bull of a priest sitting alone in a corner, and made his way to Father Brian's table.

"Father Joseph." Father Brian nodded his own greeting, his attention fixed on the untouched tray before him. The food looked interesting, a mix of traditional Japanese and Western fare, but it seemed neither priest had much in the way of an appetite.

Father Joseph picked up a packet of sugar, tore open the paper and sprinkled the crystals into his tea, followed by two more. "How will you tell them?" he wondered. "Those poor boys."

Father Brian didn't reply, didn't move a muscle. Finally he pushed his tray aside, and looked up.

The blaze in his black eyes made Father Joseph forget to breathe for a second.

"Face-to-face," said Father Brian. "Like a man."

0-0-0-0-0

After the reconciliation at the warehouse, Hiei transformed back into the pleasant and amiable companion Kurama had come to recognize, though his 'apology' consisted of utterly ignoring his contribution to the blow-up in the first place.

_Well._ thought Kurama, boarding the plane, _Anything's better than a sword through the gut._

They had completed a triumphant engagement at the Vista Room, perhaps made some new fans, and certainly new friends. Kurama liked the Kidd clan, even Mary. The trip had been worthwhile and then some.

And this time, on the flight home, he was able to sit behind Hiei and Shay-san. His and Hiei's antics made her threaten to call the pilot and have them both tossed out an airlock, but Kurama didn't care.

He was baiting Hiei, and Hiei responded not with death-threats, but insults at the speed of light. Their volleys flew so fast Kurama was hard-pressed to keep up his end of the teasing, and they behaved pretty much like a pair of nine-year-olds throughout most of the flight. Their combined age and IQ plummeted further when Kuwabara and Yuusuke left their seats to join the fun.

Besides, Shay-san was kidding about the airlock. Kurama was almost positive.

0-0-0-0-0

Having been recruited to spy upon the fire-haired girl and her mate, the little broken-nosed jaki with the rufous tuft of hair had been out of a job the past two weeks.

During that time, he avoided the warehouse, and the company of the other jaki in the demon lord's employ; most of them were larger and tougher than he. He had spent his time in the park, alone. And he had gone a bit hungry.

Now that they were on their way back home, he looked forward to the handouts both the human girl and her demon mate provided.

0-0-0-0-0

New Tokyo International Airport in Chiba-ku is slightly less than 40 miles east of the greater downtown area, and serves as the hub of JAL air traffic. It is sleek and modern, accessible by bus, train and taxi. Nearby are many sights, including Tokyo Disneyland and a Buddhist temple dating back to 940 AD, but the only sight Kurama wanted to see was his own front door.

Shiori would probably greet them with a cab, if not a limo; Kurama reflected there was a lot of luggage, all five of them, and a baby-filled stroller to contend with.

But the instant he saw Father Brian waiting for them, his heart gave a great leap of apprehension. Kurama scanned the crowd anxiously for sight of his mother.

Yuusuke and Kuwabara had not spotted the priest, indulging as they were in leonine yawns. Neither Hiei nor Shay-san were tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd, especially not kneeling next to the stroller, fussing with the twins.

_Kaasan!_! When was the last time Kurama had spoken to her? Days ago---why was she not at the airport?

The priest caught sight of them, hurried to their side. "It's all right, son," he assured Kurama, in English. "The dear girl just took a side trip to the ladies'."

The worst of Kurama's anxiety swirled away as the sleepy Kuwabara and Yuusuke greeted Father Brian. But why was the priest there in the first place?

"Father Brian?" Hiei shot the priest an amused glance. "Didn't know you ran a limo service on the side."

"Yeah, that's me." The priest's thin smile did not reach his fierce black eyes. "Let's wait for Mrs. M., then."

When Shiori found them, looking as though she hadn't slept in two days, Kurama's mind raced. But the priest herded them to the van he had waiting to take them all home.

And even then it was Shiori who spoke, her gentle voice tinged with regret. "I'm afraid there's bad news."

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss had called Carlos and the hulking, olive-skinned oni into the office, as he had done every day since sending Olive on the mission. But it was only today that, rather than glowering for a quarter-hour or so, he spoke to them.

"How did the girl escape?" His voice was toneless, eyes unreadable as he sat behind the steel desk.

The oni started talking, its voice un-naturally shrill. "She was fast, so fast! And the fog---then the cops!"

Carlos found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to defend an employee who had failed. Following the Boss' bizarre illness, he had begun to treat Carlos as more than a mere underling, almost a confidante.

Carlos, to his surprise, enjoyed it. He wanted to do well.

"And that damned Russian," growled the oni. "He fought like a demon, he---"

"An' here I thought _you_ was the demon," said the Boss.

Olive put out his clawed hands in a gesture of pleading. "At least I took out the fat guy! You should have seen his face! But that freakin' Russian bastard---"

"Enough," said Carlos, quietly. The oni subsided, sweating.

This was an interesting dilemma. Either the Boss was gradually becoming cautious, or, as seemed more likely, drawing out the oni's execution, enjoying the creature's fear.

But not today.

Flicking a claw in dismissal, the Boss waited for the sweating oni to back out and shut the door. Then he shook his head. "A human. Can you believe it? A human fought off one of my men. A human allowed the girl to escape."

"It _was_ foggy," said Carlos.

The demon king shot a flat black glance his way. "You excusin' his screw-up? 'Cause pretty soon, word gets out that I'm okay with sloppy work. An' that ain't a good thing."

"From what I heard, the girl's not talking."

"They could get her to talk. We'll have to see that she don't." Grinning, the demon king put a clawed hand to his throat, and drew it across in a cutting motion.

0-0-0-0-0

_Beware the Ides of March_, thought Kurama. The quote from Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ nagged at him as he glanced out the van's window.

The ride home from the airport could take more than an hour, due to traffic congestion along the Higashi-Kanto Expressway.

Of course the event itself had occurred a day or so ago and not on the Ides of March. But it was only today that they were hearing of it.

Silence reigned, except for Father Brian informing them of the details.

Yukawa Kenji and Lermontov were both dead. The police were investigating.

Ibuki, while alive and apparently uninjured, was in a fugue state where she neither moved nor spoke.

In his mind Kurama repeated these facts over and over, to get them to make sense. Yuusuke and Kuwabara expressed anger and disbelief. Hiei remained within himself.

With the priest at the wheel, the van headed west, its wheels singing a mournful tune against asphalt.

The playful mood on the airplane had been dashed to bits on the jagged edge of loss. But it was Shay-san who broke down altogether. And then, the only sound was of a woman weeping, who never wept for herself.

0-0-0-0-0

Azuma Ken was a big man, well over six feet in height, clad in muscle head to toe, if little else. The black leather vest that was his only upper-body covering revealed a cascade of tattoos twined round both bulging arms. With his buzz-cut yellow hair and long eyes, he had the look of a predatory bird, perhaps a great eagle.

This was only the second time Carlos had ever faced him, the first being upon Azuma's recruitment to the Boss's secondaries some months ago. Carlos hadn't missed him in the interim.

With the dun-brown jaki as go-between, Carlos spoke with the human predator in an alley downtown to convey the Boss' orders.

The jaki, cowering on top of the dumpster, clearly wished to put as much distance between himself and Azuma as possible, but Carlos refused intimidation. "Can you deliver?" he asked, once he was certain Azuma understood what the Boss wanted.

Casually flicking out his knife, Azuma Ken sneered. "Should be easy."

Following that, the big man went on his way, and Carlos considered walking around the corner for a bite at the Silver Moon Cafe. First, however, he sent the jaki to fetch the less-psychotic Ozawa Hideo, whose job it would be to make the phone call that would trap the target's woman.

But on the following day, the predator reported failure.

Meeting with Azuma in the same reeking alley, Carlos could scarcely believe it. "You left the girl alive?" he inquired.

"There was an effin' _priest_ at her bedside," raged Azuma. "Some little guy with salt-and-pepper hair."

"A priest stopped you?" Carlos raised an eyebrow.

"It was a hospital," Azuma grumbled defensively. "Lots of people around. Big chance of gettin' caught. I went back later but the priest was gone and so was she. They moved her. No one would say where."

"Then I guess your fee's where the girl is---vanished."

"Gimme another chance. Gimme a shot at that priest, for one. This screw-up's all his fault, and he owes me. Next time, I want his blood!"

"Prove it."

"Don't worry." The long eyes glittered with animal hunger.

Watching the big man depart, Carlos refused to dwell on the singer and her reprieve or how to deal with the priest. His focus had to be on the terrible fate in store for the mother of the target's twins.

0-0-0-0-0

Lermontov's apartment was small, stylish, and now, achingly empty.

The executor of Lermontov's estate, a graying middle-aged lawyer named Fumata Shigeru, had the look of a man who never got enough sleep. His cell phone had seldom stopped ringing since he met them outside the building and led them, huffing, up three flights of stairs to the apartment.

"Lermontov wanted you to have a couple of things right away," Fumata informed Kurama and Shay-san.

Shay-san made a strangled sound low in her throat.

"Oh, it's nothing much," the lawyer hastened to add, misinterpreting her reaction. "Just scrapbooks and so forth. His will was explicit about that---had me draw up a codicil to that effect months ago. Now if I could just remember where---"

The phone rang again. Fumata fumbled it out of his pocket, looked at it as though it was a poisonous snake in an extremely bad mood, and answered.

While he spoke into the phone, Kurama studied Shay-san.

Koenma had no idea who the culprit was ("That's why you're the Spirit Detective for Ningenkai, Yuusuke.") And while Yuusuke and Kuwabara combed the streets for the killer, Hiei had flat-out refused to come to the apartment.

Kurama himself had to wonder why Hiei would not accompany them, especially as Shay-san had existed on the verge of tears since the tragic news. Even now, her eyes were rimmed with red, and she clutched a wad of tissues in her right hand.

Fumata listened to his caller with reluctance, then hung up. Tugging at his collar, he addressed them. "Can I trust you alone here for a few? Something needs my urgent attention at the office. Back in fifteen."

"Of course," Kurama said smoothly, watching Fumata as he hurried out. The door closed, Kurama counted to ten, then immediately began tossing the joint.

Eyeing him listlessly, Shay-san sank into a chair. "What are you hoping to find?" Her voice shook, and she sounded as though she had a cold.

"Not sure. Some sort of clue---if he had enemies---"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Everyone hated Lermontov."

"You know what I mean." Youko's years of expertise as a thief stood him in good stead, but a quick search of the living room and kitchenette revealed nothing more mysterious than the bookcase. Kurama teased out a manila envelope stuck between a cookbook and a ballroom dance history.

"It appears to be an address," Kurama said, glancing at the scrawl on the outside of the envelope. "I'm afraid I'm not very skilled at translating Cyrillic."

"At least you know what it's called," she retorted. "Hiei doesn't give a damn."

Battling his own doubts, Kurama slid the envelope back in place. "You're misreading him, I think. For the first time."

"Not for the first time." Hiei stepped out from the bedroom, startling the both of them. His glacial calm cast a chill over the room. "And that's not Cyrillic."

Kurama blinked. "How did you---"

"Ch." Hands in pockets, Hiei circled the room, glancing around as though nothing about this apartment was of any particular interest. "I don't need a front door to get in."

"And my kids?" Shay-san protested. "Where---"

"Relax." Hiei went to the window, gave the street a scornful glance and turned back. "They're safe with Shizuru."

She flared at him. "I'll be the judge of what's safe!"

Safe or not, Kurama stepped between them. "Don't take it out on each other," he pleaded.

Silence. Shay-san dabbed at her eyes again. A muscle in Hiei's jaw twitched. Kurama reached out to him, thought better of it, then let his hand drop.

Touching Hiei at the best of times could be tricky---perhaps the only time the fire demon allowed Kurama to handle him was when he was bleeding. But some wounds were invisible.

"They tore him apart," Hiei said, in that same icy voice.

Shay-san shut her eyes, as though that would shut out the image.

"Father Brian told me, later." Hiei glanced at the envelope in the bookcase. "He didn't want to reveal such details in the van. They literally tore him apart. The other guy---"

"Yukawa Kenji," said Kurama. "I don't want their names forgotten. Not Kenji's, not Ibuki's, not Lermontov's. The director. You knew him as well as I did, Hiei. No, better."

"That writing," said Hiei, jerking his head at the envelope in the bookcase. "It's Hebrew. Lermontov was a Jew. Spent a year imprisoned in Siberia along with his older brother, a dissident. The brother died there. Lermontov survived."

The information took Kurama by surprise; he glanced at Shay-san, realized that she was equally stunned.

"Hiei?" Kurama began, "You---"

Hiei's lifted his lip. "You think you're the only one who can find things out, fox-boy?"

"I didn't mean---"

"Kenji's neck was snapped," Hiei continued, clenching the fist that wasn't shoved deep into his pocket. "Fatal injury, only injury. But Lermontov died hard. He had more guts than I gave him credit for."

"Hiei." Kurama stepped in close, where the fire demon could not ignore his presence. Hiei lifted his eyes to meet Kurama's, and Kurama saw the pain there, and was reminded that it was far too easy to mistake Hiei's iron control for indifference. _I'm the one who's misread him this time_.

"Even if you had been home," Kurama said, very gently, "there's no guarantee you could have saved them."

Shrugging, Hiei brushed past Kurama. He went to Shay-san's side, laid a hand on her shoulder. "You were right," he told her. "Trouble found us. But whoever murdered Lermontov and Kenji---they just signed their own death warrant."

(To be continued: An explosive situation develops)

-30-


	28. FS C27: End of a Rope

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C27: End of a Rope

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Still stunned from the recent murders, Hiei and company stumble into yet another trap.

A/N: My thanks once again to Jo-chan. Because of our discussions re timelines I have been able to map out the remaining story arcs in a way that makes them both tighter abd better. Please visit my LiveJournal homepagey to see the accompanying illos. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"We're being followed!"

Firebird Sweet C27: End of a Rope (Back Home, part two)

by

Kenshin

Shayla Kidd knew someone was following them. Her stomach tightened with apprehension.

The Myu-Myu district may have been enjoying a spate of urban renewal, and it may have been broad daylight, but this particular street had seen little in the way of gentrification. Keiko, still in her blue school uniform, tugged at Shayla's hand, her pretty face alight as she urged, "It's not far." Not exactly the time to ask: _You're __**sure**__ you got the right directions?_

Yuusuke and Kuwabara were still out patrolling, looking for the slayers of Lermontov and Yukawa Kenji. Could the boys be providing an escort service on the sly?

Shayla flicked a glance behind her, but their pursuer darted into an alley before she could get a good look.

_Do I tell Keiko someone's after us, or just try to get us the hell out of here? _

_Given recent events, I vote out._ "Keiko," she began, "Stay close to me and do exactly what I---"

That was as far as she got.

0-0-0-0-0

The mood in Warehouse Four today was tense, expectant. The fire-haired mother of the target's twins had somehow managed to wriggle out of dying after their birth.

This time, the Boss was banking on something a little more devastating than a whiny Shifter who could transform into an elderly priest.

This time, there would be no premature celebration. They would only applaud once the girl's shattered remains had been dug out of the rose-brick building of the Myu-Myu district.

0-0-0-0-0

It might have been the smells that woke her: dust, mildew and cigar smoke. But whatever caused Shayla Kidd to open her eyes, it spelled trouble.

She sat at Keiko's right side, Keiko slumped with her head drooping like a wilted blossom. Both were hog-tied to uncomfortable metal folding chairs. Shayla's heart drummed with fear, jarring her ribs and aching head.

_Hiei's going to kill me_, she thought. And he had every right to let her have it. What she had done went beyond stupid.

But then she had hardly been herself following the visit to Lermontov's apartment a week ago, teetering between grief and rage. Since the double murder, everyone had seemed desperate to change her mood. She had resisted all efforts until an excited Keiko told her a new recording studio was opening, offering rock-bottom rates. Leaving Hiei in charge of the twins, she told him she was meeting Keiko for a walk---but not where, or why.

Panic stabbed at her, but she had to resist, had to remain calm. Michael and CeeCee needed her. She had to come out of this alive in order to atone for her criminal foolishness.

And if there was a single chance of wiping out the consequences of her rash judgment, it lay in thinking like a warrior. One who had helped, in however small a way, to defeat White Sands Serpent.

She took a slow breath, let it out. _Fight. Fight to stay alive_. Keeping her head down, as if still unconscious, she studied their surroundings through slitted eyes.

She and Keiko were situated in one corner of a spacious room, with a bank of tall windows letting in daylight behind them. It was difficult to determine from the color and angle of light exactly how long she had been unconscious. Her arms were pulled behind her, thick tough rope binding her wrists together. A coil of rope circled her waist. The two coils were probably connected in back of the chair.

Her shoulders and chest ached, but that was due merely to the pull of rope, which would put their time of captivity at well over fifteen minutes. During the course of Shayla Kidd's varied stage career, she had performed in a college play as Third Victim Tied To Chair. She well remembered an aching numbness starting at a quarter-hour, which was quite inconvenient, as the scene itself lasted thirty-five minutes.

Her head throbbed with a steady drumbeat of pain, and this was not an effect of being tied up. _Did they hit us_, she wondered, _or drug us?_ She had no memory of either, but as her head pain lacked a focal point, and nausea rose in the back of her throat, she suspected chloroform, or something like it.

Keiko let out a tiny whimper. _So she's awake now, too_. With her head still hanging, Shayla managed to catch Keiko's eye. Keiko gave an almost-nod: _I'm all right._

Provided the ropes tying her hands behind the chair were not attached to the chair, Shayla was flexible enough to slide her arms straight up, rope and all, and free herself, then Keiko.

_Damn_. The ropes were attached. She stomped down on the pinprick of disappointment, thinking, _At least my legs haven't been tied._

Why?

She continued her covert study of the room. The space might have been used as an office. Debris of a once-thriving business lay all around: a metal desk near the door, a couple of chairs, an empty water cooler. The door was less than thirty feet away, diagonal to them, close enough to make a run for it.

The distance itself was nothing. However, the two men, standing thick and implacable at the desk and looking straight at them, presented a far greater obstacle.

_We're going to die._ She battled panic again and won, forcing herself to think of one step at a time. _No! I can't lose! I can't fail my kids, Hiei, Keiko_!

Both men regarded her as though she was nothing more than another piece of office furniture. They were not Japanese, but foreign, like her. Americans? Something about their body language said no. Both heavily built, and swarthy. One smoked an evil-smelling cigar. The other had a pencil-thin moustache. And though she may not have been certain of their nationality, she was sure they were human. There was no trace of _youki_.

A jarring thought occurred. It was possible these men had murdered her friends. A cold anger settled over her.

As an experiment, she let out a groan. Both men chuckled, telling her a great deal about the mindset of her captors.

She raised her head. Thanks to Romantic Soldier, her face was somewhat well-known, but these weren't professional kidnapers. Pros would reassure them, make certain they were in decent shape for the ransom drop and exchange. At least that kind would let them out alive.

Shayla had not trained her Dragon of Smoke since its 'birth.' Unlike the cellular abilities of the Dragon, Spellcasting depends upon the caster's complete facility in the language of the listener. So far she had no idea what language that was.

So far, too, neither man had made any threatening moves toward them. But in the meantime, she, a known Spellcaster, had not been gagged. Again---why?

There was a risky way to find out. A warrior had to dare it. And in daring it, she might also bring about their rescue.

"I'm thirsty," she said, in Japanese.

Cigar Man raised an eyebrow and grunted. Then, with halting grammar and atrocious accent, he replied, "You won't need water where you're going."

So. These men had not lived here long enough to master the fine points of Japanese language, yet they had some familiarity with it. Odds-on, they were not tourists indulging in a little crime spree between visits to Tokyo Tower and the Ginza Strip.

She raised the bar, speaking English. "Go pollinate yourself, you limp-wristed, cousin-marrying eunuch."

The men glanced at one another. There was the hint of a shrug exchanged between then. Shayla studied her captors---the one with the cigar had black hair, close-cropped and curling, the dark eyes set beneath beetling brows in a heavy face. He stank of garlic, even from this distance. The other man was similar in looks, though his black hair was long, straight and shining with grease.

What came next was dangerous. She switched to another tongue, and what she said in it was not nearly as polite.

The effect was immediate and frightening. With a guttural curse, Cigar Man leapt forward and backhanded her across the mouth. Pain exploded. Her head rocked back, wrenching her neck.

But Shayla felt more than the sting of the blow. She felt someone else's shock.

Keiko cried out. But it was not Keiko's shock Shayla had experienced. _Any minute now_, she thought.

Moustache Man barked an order. With great reluctance, Cigar Man backed away to rejoin him, but he snapped at him, whereupon Moustache Man retorted, and in no time they were arguing.

Using their raised voices for cover, Shayla whispered to Keiko, "Don't speak to them. Don't look at them."

"Vermin!" Keiko's eyes blazed with that fighting spirit which made her such a good match for Yuusuke. "Are you okay?"

Shayla nodded. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she whispered, then---

-What the _hell_ was that just now?

She recognized Hiei's voice in her head, the white flame of his anger a bracing tonic.

-So you can you hear me, Three-eyes?

-Felt it, too. That one who hit you is dead.

-No, Hiei. As far as I can tell he's human. They both are.

-Then make that two dead humans.

-You can't.

-You watch me do it. I'm on my way.

Although he had every right to do so, Hiei wasted no precious time in recriminations.

-The kids? she wondered

-Shizuru's with them. What---! Keiko too? Why did you let them tie you up?

-Not much choice when you aren't conscious, she thought, and heard Hiei's searing curse, felt him double his speed.

-We're all right. I still have my feet free. Not to mention my big mouth.

-Stupid woman! I can see something you can't.

The color of Hiei's thoughts sent ice down her spine.

The men were still arguing, their faces red, their gestures increasingly savage. _What did Hiei see that I can't?_ Shayla lifted herself a little taller in the seat, craning her neck.

The two kidnapers faced each other in front of a metal desk. Except for Cigar Man coming to belt her, they had remained near that desk the whole time.

There was something just behind them on the desk that she was pretty sure did not come as standard-issue office equipment. It was crude, but would undoubtedly function as its makers intended.

The base was fashioned of what appeared to be at least ten sticks of dynamite, strapped together in a bundle, gaily festooned with wires. An alarm clock completed the ensemble.

-On the desk? she thought at Hiei.

-Home-made bomb, he thought back, his tone ice-cold. -Wired on a timer. Ticking.

-Lovely.

-I'm just about there---

-I can try to find out who they are and why they---

-No. In and out, I'm taking you. Get Keiko ready.

The men were shouting at one another now. She sidelipped to Keiko: "He's coming. Try to loosen your ropes."

Keiko nodded. They worked hard, in silence; Shayla didn't know how tightly they had tied her friend, but her own struggles against the thick rope drew blood from her abraded wrists.

And then Moustache Man glanced their way. Silent, seething, he leapt for Keiko.

_Oh, no you don't!_ Time slowed for Shayla Kidd in battle, the way Hiei had taught her to see it. She tracked the attacker's movements. Moustache Man lunged forward, bent at the waist, leading with his twitching face and outstretched hands. She smelt his acrid mix of sweat and hair tonic. She heard Keiko's gasp, saw him raise his arm. Keiko shut her eyes, turned her head away.

Now.

Bracing her left leg on the floor, with her right leg she launched an explosive Rockette-style kick straight from the hip, catching the man on the underside of his jaw.

She was seated and the kick didn't have her full weight behind it. He staggered back but not down. In the split-second it took him to recover, Shayla scuttled to maneuver her chair in front of Keiko's, making her own body a protective barrier, however pathetically small.

And now Cigar Man was coming for them too, reaching into his jacket for something.

Moustache Man barked an order. A gun appeared in Cigar Man's hand.

Still bound to the chair, Shayla surged to her feet in an awkward half-crouch, and was gratified to note his shock.

And then not so gratified when he swung the gun onto her.

But---

She bared her teeth. "Your luck just ran out, jackass."

The gunman narrowed his eyes and spat something neither in English or Japanese. His finger tightened on the trigger.

An explosion of glass. Both men shouted. She sensed rather than saw the flying shadow who burst into the room. Shayla Kidd swung to face the window, presenting her attacker with the back of her chair and at the same time covering Keiko.

She heard the gun's report and Keiko's startled yelp. The bullet smacked into the wall in front of her, raising a puff of dust. She was only a little surprised to feel the chair fall away from her. Her arms freed seemingly by magic, she knew Keiko would be free as well. Ignoring the pain in her arms, Shayla pulled the taller, heavier girl to her feet.

Keiko's mouth rounded in surprise. "Hiei's here!"

"I know." Pushing Keiko toward the broken window, Shayla glanced over her shoulder.

And there was Hiei, his back to her, facing their attackers, whose heads had been inexplicably bloodied.

The gun lay close to her feet. It was a premium weapon, a Colt Python .357 magnum revolver. For a split-second she thought of scooping it up and unloading it into Cigar Man.

"Nah." She shook her head. "Too much trigger pressure for the likes of me."

Besides---

The way Hiei stood between them and the kidnapers, his arms flung out as if trying to bar a soccer ball from reaching its goal, the set of his legs, the way his shoulders bunched---

"What's he doing?" whispered Keiko.

"Counting." Grimly, she tightened her grip on Keiko.

Hiei addressed the kidnapers. "Die," he said.

Shayla Kidd spoke to Keiko one last time. "Brace yourself!"

Then came that familiar thump to her ribs, and the world bloomed fire.

(To be continued: A roar of sound, splinters of glass)

-30-


	29. FS C28: The Shiori Gambit

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C28: The Shiori Gambit

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: When at the Minamino residence, do as Shiori does.

A/N: A _genkan_ is a small alcove where Japanese folk take off their shoes prior to entering the house. Here I focus a bit on Shiori, whose depths and talents continue to amaze me. Accompanying sketches on LJ homepagey. As always, I thank you for reading this, and hope you take the time to review!

"Are we suspects now?"

Firebird Sweet C28: Back Home (part three, The Shiori Gambit)

by

Kenshin

Kurama was triangulating.

While Shiori, in the kitchen preparing dinner, sang along to a radio ad for _nori_, Kurama struggled to find a pattern in the attacks that had occurred since their job at the Crazy Dog Diner. He had drawn them out, placing dots one by one with an orange highlighter on a city map: the flash of _youki_ at the pachinko parlor, Hiei's battle against the Shifter in the park, the oni attack on himself and Yuusuke in the alley not far from the Red Lantern restaurant, the appearance of the fake priest at the Silver Moon cafe, Hiei's drugging and dragging to the cemetery near the Higurashi shrine---

Damn. The attacks were awfully wide-scattered. Kurama could not be certain from where they originated, or even if they came from the same source, though he would bet good money on it.

And no human had killed Lermontov. Of that much, Kurama was certain.

Even more aggravating, nothing explained his sense of dread when he thought of Hiei in a fiery air crash. They had made it by air from Japan to California and back without incident.

When he heard the wail of distant sirens through his open window, Kurama spared only a moment's attention. In a metropolis the size of Tokyo, there are always sirens.

Tuning out the noise, he drew another dot on the map.

The tree outside his window rattled ominously. Then something hurtled through the window, thudding to his floor with the resounding force of a bomb. It send him leaping to his feet.

The bomb turned out to be Hiei.

Hiei lay face-up, reeking of smoke and blood, his chest heaving. "I'm fine," he gasped.

"Yes, you look fine to me," Kurama retorted. Hiei was slashed in a dozen places, barely able to get out the words.

"The girls are all right. Didn't want to bleed all over the _genkan_. Dropped them downstairs."

"Girls?"

"Keiko," Hiei wheezed. "Shay-san."

Kurama listened. Shiori had stopped singing. Rapid-fire female voices came from the downstairs hall. But he relaxed just a hair; if Hiei could talk, that meant he was probably all right, more or less. "It's nice to have visitors."

"They're heavy. Especially Keiko."

"Don't let her hear you say that."

"Don't worry---I sealed my death wish some time ago."

Kurama knelt next to the gasping, bleeding heap. Hiei was wearing his usual loose black pants, and a sleeveless shirt that had once been white and was now a disturbing mix of soot, and bloodstains, the white barely showing. "Anything I can get you?"

"Why am I lying on my back? The cuts are on my back."

"Not all of them."

"Oh, that's right. I came through the window head-first."

"But it was open."

"Not _your_ window, idiot fox."

"Shall I help right you?"

"When hell freezes over." With a dismissive grunt, Hiei heaved himself onto his belly. "Always bleeding on your floor," he lamented.

"Peroxide takes the stains right out. Besides, I've gotten used to you bleeding on my floor. My day hardly seems complete without a Hiei and the blood he leaves on my floor."

"Poor Kaasan, stuck with such a cold-hearted son." The shirt clung to Hiei's back, damp with sweat and soot and blood. "There's blood on the girls, too," he said, levering himself up on one elbow. "Mostly mine."

"Blood on the girls," Kurama repeated.

"Someone kidnaped them. Then the building blew up."

"Well." Kurama left Hiei's side and settled on his bed, chin cupped in hands. "We've had an interesting day."

"Day's not over yet."

"Look at you, leaving your shoes on in the house." Kurama made clucking noises. "Who taught you manners?"

Hiei informed Kurama exactly what he could do with the shoes, which, upon reflection, proved anatomically impossible.

"Guess we'll have to call the cops," Hiei added. "I expect Kaasan's already doing it. Shay-san didn't get much chance to interrogate the kidnapers before they got dead."

"They?"

"Two of them." Hiei struggled to a sitting position. "We don't know who."

"But dead."

"Resting in pieces." Lurching to his feet, Hiei wobbled, but stayed up. "If I could just wash off some of this blood---"

"You know where the bathroom is."

"Leave the rest of the blood for the cops." Hiei paused in the doorway. "Whatever's on my shirt and your floor. Not all of it's mine. Maybe they can get some DNA evidence."

Kurama nodded absently, already rummaging his mind for the correct treatment. He heard Hiei stagger down the hall, then run the water.

Now, which compound would accelerate his friend's healing, without too many side effects? He reached into a dresser drawer where he kept such things.

And stopped, frowning. Something about that word 'blood.'

Everything in the game suddenly changed.

Kurama hadn't moved this fast since the Dark Tournament. He first got rid of the evidence in the bedroom, then snatched a shirt and a scrap of white cloth from his drawer and pelted down the hall.

He burst into the bathroom.

Hiei was huddled in the steaming tub, arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees. He glanced up at Kurama in mild annoyance. "Take a picture. I'll last longer."

Kurama hauled him out of the tub by one arm and flung a towel at him, then frantically drained the bathwater, scrubbing at the tub with another towel to obliterate any remaining bloodstains. "Hurry." He grabbed Hiei's torn and bloodied shirt off the floor and thrust it into his hands, along with the wet towel. "And burn this. _Now_."

"I'm wondering whether you'll tell me why," Hiei griped, obeying nonetheless. "In your own sweet time."

"Get into that." Kurama jerked his head at the shirt he had tossed onto the vanity; it was the only black garment he owned, a waffle-knit sweat top; the color would cover any additional bleeding, but from the looks of things Hiei's cuts and abrasions were already healing. "You'll have to wear your own pants and hope you don't leave blood on the sofa." Kurama was halfway out the door.

"Wait! Where are you?---"

He turned, skewering Hiei with a look. "I'm going down to help my mother with the girls."

He could see the pallor of shock come over Hiei as his friend comprehended the danger. "My blood! I didn't even think---"

"Lucky for you," Kurama said, "I did."

They had dodged a bullet and then some. At a glance, Hiei 'read' human. If one were to x-ray him, Hiei would still 'read' human, unless the x-ray happened to be of his skull and one were sharp enough to note the gaping hole where the Jagan had been implanted.

But at the cellular level, it was a different story. And blood contained many of the elements identifying Hiei as _youkai_.

"Your floor!" Hiei lunged for the door, clutching the towel to his waist.

"Already done." Kurama blocked his way. "You stay here and finish getting dressed."

Hiei studied himself in the mirror. "Damn it, there's blood on my Jagan ward!"

"I've got another." Kurama yanked it from his pocket.

Hiei pulled away the bloodied ward and burnt it, then tied the new one on tight and flushed the ashes.

"I don't know what happened." Kurama paused at the door. "But I hope you and Shay-san can get your 'stories' coordinated."

Hiei shot him an answering glance. "Interesting to try."

The tattoo of slippered feet running upstairs; then Kaasan burst into the room. With a muttered curse, Hiei yanked his pants on, but Kaasan didn't even break stride.

"You three were walking past the building when it blew up," she informed him, crossing to the window to slide it open and let out the smell of burnt fabric. "Hiei threw the girls down and covered them, and then brought them here. You're all a little shaken, especially as to details." She paused, took a breath. "Look---it was Keiko who called the police. I would have waited until we talked this over."

"Did she tell them about the kidnaping?" Hiei asked.

"She was fairly incoherent. Just something about a building blowing up." Kaasan paused for a deep breath. "Don't give her a hard time; she's quite rattled."

Hiei nodded. "What's done is done."

"That's the spirit." Kaasan shot a quick, assessing glance around the bathroom. "I've given both girls some of my clothes to wear. They fit Keiko better than they fit Shay-san but it will have to do. I have all sorts of questions---"

"We'll deal with the rest later." Hiei was gingerly shouldering into the shirt. He held out his arms for Kaasan to fold the sleeves back.

"Why were 'we' in that neighborhood in the first place?" Kurama wondered.

"Looking for someplace cheap to rent a recording studio," Hiei muttered.

"And they picked the Myu-Myu district?" Shaking her head, Kaasan started on the second sleeve. "Hi-chan, are you sure you're all right?" Kaasan caught Hiei by the chin and tilted his head back to examine his face. She was probably the only person on the planet, Kurama reflected, who could get away with such things and live.

"Fine, fine. The girls?"

"Shay-san seems collected. Keiko keeps asking where you are, and I keep telling her. I should probably spike her tea."

"Kaasan!" Kurama's eyes widened in shock.

She gave him a sweet smile. "Tea has lots of caffeine. We don't need Keiko even more jacked up."

Kurama and Hiei exchanged glances filled with awe.

"And you, Hi-chan," Kaasan directed, "Shuuichi will help you downstairs and put you on the couch."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And close that toilet seat."

"Yes, MA'AM."

"I'd better get back down with the girls and start pretending everything is all right."

They listened to the patter of her feet as she left, then Kurama turned a raised eyebrow on Hiei. "Ready?"

Hiei nodded, moving away from Kurama's proffered arm. "Don't baby me," he grumbled.

They managed to get downstairs, where Kurama maneuvered Hiei onto the couch, with Keiko and Shay-san flanking him.

The doorbell rang. Kurama went to answer it.

Two policemen stood there, one stocky and in his 30s, his brown hair brush-cut, his face that of a happy barkeep. He introduced himself as Masumoto.

His partner, Obayashi, was several years younger, several inches taller, and several shades less pleasant. He looked as though he was perpetually smelling some form of sewage; but his eyes were watchful.

Kurama ushered them in. As Kaasan poured tea, they took down basic information, writing in small reporter's notebooks.

While this went on, Kurama stole glances at the couch. Shay-san had not bothered to push up the trailing sleeves of her borrowed sweater, but Kurama caught a glimpse of bandages. There was no hiding the swollen lip; Kurama speculated the only thing preventing Hiei from slowly dismembering the kidnapers was the explosion, however that had taken place. He wondered if there was any forensic evidence remaining at the crime scene.

Although the policemen had taken statements from each of the three 'witnesses;' they asked the same questions over, in a slightly different manner. And yet again. And kept writing.

Keiko was answering as from a great distance, only half-feigning shock. She put a hand to her cheek, turned wide glistening eyes to the policemen. "I should call my parents. They'll be worried."

The officers exchanged glances, then nodded. Keiko went into the kitchen while Obayashi cast virulent looks at Hiei.

Keiko returned mercifully soon. "Mom's coming to get me," she informed no one in particular.

"Wasn't that Russian who got murdered a friend of yours?" asked Obayashi. "And the director?"

Shay-san swallowed hard, then looked at the floor.

"And now this," Obayashi went on.

Kurama studied both detectives. He and Hiei had played good cop-bad cop many a time.

But the good cop-bad cop routine was something one played on _suspects_. Kurama caught his mother's eye, caught her almost-invisible nod.

"Surely you can't suggest a connection," said Shiori in her soft voice. "The boys were in America when the tragedy struck."

Masumoto glanced at his notebook. "And you wanted to rent this recording studio for what reason?"

"We play in a band," said Kurama, for the fourth time.

Obayashi eyed Kurama like he was a hungry toad and Kurama the fly. Dismissing Kurama, he turned to Hiei. "The name of this band again?"

"Romantic Soldier."

"Hey, that's right!" Masumoto laughed. "My kid's a big fan. She's even got your CD--"

Obayashi cut him off. "Are you sure you were just looking for a recording studio and that building just happened to blow up all by itself?"

"Now wait a second!" Kaasan shot to her feet, fuming. "Officer! My Hi-chan is a good boy---what are you insinuating?"

"_Your_ Hi-chan?" Obayashi raised a scornful eyebrow. Kurama silently echoed the sentiment.

"I've adopted him," Shiori said primly. "We're just going through the legalities now."

_Kaasan!_ thought Kurama. _This is too much, even for you!_ He kept a tight rein on his reactions, knowing that adult adoptions in Japan are not unheard of, but wondering what his mother had up her sleeve.

"I'm an orphan," added Hiei, helpfully. He jerked his head at Shay-san. "So's she."

But Kaasan was still on the attack. "And we have three very shaken young people, my Hi-chan with twin infants needing care at home!" She clasped her scarred hands together. "We have only recently suffered this shocking loss, yet you treat us like criminals instead of looking for the real ones!"

The older officer, Masumoto, reddened, mumbling something conciliatory.

But Obayashi was implacable. "We're just doing our job."

"Good," Shiori said icily. "Then I suggest you finish up here and do so."

The doorbell rang. Keiko's mother had come to collect her.

The police detectives departed, telling them to remain available for further questioning, and then Keiko went off with her half-worried, half-relieved mother.

That left the four of them alone.

Kurama let his head flop back. A long-pent sigh escaped.

"That went well," Kaasan said, then she bustled into the kitchen with the tea-tray, returning with a platter of tuna rolls, which she placed on the coffee table.

"Medical attention first," said Shay-san. "Dinner second."

"Shay-san! You said you weren't hurt!" Kaasan's eyes widened in alarm.

"Not me," she assured them, with an expectant glance at Kurama. "Hiei."

"Running on too much adrenaline to notice at first." Hiei winced, his voice constricted, a hand on his side. "Managed to twist so I was underneath the girls when we hit pavement."

"Listen to you gripe." Kurama eased Hiei onto his back. "Landing with two lovely ladies on top. Most men would not be whining about it. Most men would consider it a dream come true."

In English, Hiei said to Kurama, "If you tell me to turn my head and cough, you're dead."

Chuckling, Kurama pulled up the waffled shirt and ran both hands over Hiei's torso.

Hiei released a breath. "Might have cracked a rib."

"Two." While Kaasan hurried for the first-aid kit, Kurama focused a bit of his own healing ki onto the spot. "Broken ribs. Any more surprises like that in store?"

"I have a big one." Shay-san rose, giving Kurama more room. "But it will have to wait until everyone's together."

"You're expecting again?" Hiei blinked up at her.

"I wish." The girl shot Kurama a dark, measuring glance, then shuttered herself so completely he was left wondering what was on her mind. "Turns out the kidnapers had a little secret that I managed to get out of them before they got dead."

(To be continued: More than one secret will be revealed.)

-30-


	30. FS C29: PostMortem at Genkai's

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C29: Post-Mortem at Genkai's

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: In which the team tries to figure out who, and why.

A/N: About my accompanying LJ sketch (which could be one character, could be another, wink-wink): it's basically a watercolored pencil drawing on a ground I had almost forgotten about: Denril. Denril has some great properties and it's time I started using it on a regular basis. As always, I thank you for reading this, and please continue with your reviews!

Secrets can't be hidden for long

Firebird Sweet C29: Back Home (part four, Post-Mortem at Genkai's)

by

Kenshin

"**No one can run faster than his shadow. But my shadow can fly." -- Hiei**

0-0-0-0-0

"Bitch! That's twice she got away!" The Boss thrust out a clawed hand, spraying the warehouse floor with a sheet of flame. Carlos didn't even have to shout a warning; the oni had already scattered. Several hours earlier, the dun-brown jaki had arrived to tell them their plot had failed, and the demon king had been drinking ever since. Carlos barely had time to feel the loss of Tasco and Gutierrez, whom he had known since his Colombian days.

A stone jug of sake fell from the Boss' fingers and made a dull thud on the floor. The stench of raw liquor was quickly subsumed by the smell of smoke. Staggering toward the office, the Boss snarled, "I'll get her inside a week. I swear it."

0-0-0-0-0

"Dammit, Hiei!" Urameshi Yuusuke clenched his fists, advancing on Hiei. He had stopped Hiei under the trees outside Genkai's temple, where they had come to perform a post-mortem on the attack. "What's wrong with you? You killed a _human!_"

"Correction." Hiei gave the boy a sidelong smirk, just for old times's sake. "Two."

It was late afternoon of the day following the explosion. Last night, Shay-san had disappeared into the living room clutching an armful of books and tapes. "I want to be sure of what I heard," she told Hiei.

His cracked ribs, expertly taped by Kurama, felt well enough. He was unable to take deep breaths but things could have been worse.

The group today included Kurama, Kuwabara, and Father Brian, Shay-san and the twins, along with Genkai herself and Yukina. The others were already inside, but Urameshi had insisted on speaking to Hiei alone.

Hiei tried to move, but the Spirit Detective barred his way, lips skinned back from strong white teeth. "Don't you even give a damn what Koenma will do to you?"

"Language, Yuusuke." Hiei waggled a finger at him.

"Gahhh!" Urameshi raked both hands through his hair. "You can't just kill humans, Hiei!"

"Actually, I can."

"What the hell are you---"

As Hiei spoke he kept an eye on the temple. "Besides, I owe Keiko one. Or are you forgetting what I did to her in that warehouse back then?"

"I remember. And God help you if Keiko ever does! Anyway don't you go changing the subject on me!"

"You know, I find myself liking that girl more and more." Neatly sidestepping Urameshi, Hiei strolled to a stone bench. "She's a good match for you."

Urameshi followed, hands still clenched into fists.

Hiei seated himself cross-legged, steadily regarding the seething boy. "And I'm not under Koenma's thumb any more."

"So that means you're free to go around killing?"

"Actually, yes."

Urameshi uttered a growl. "Why, you---"

"Rome has always made the case for a just war." The harsh cry of crows sounded in the distance. "And we are at war. I'm permitted to kill humans in self-defense or defense of others."

But Hiei had no wish to slaughter innocent bystanders, demon or human. It was just that the kidnapers were far from innocent.

And he understood Urameshi wasn't really angry with him. The boy was merely letting his frustration surface; neither he nor Kuwabara had made any headway in tracking down Lermontov's killer. And the fact that he had been elsewhere when Keiko was in danger probably meant he was bursting with a mix of relief and anger toward her, too.

Hiei knew how that felt. Shay-san had been a fool. But she had equal reason to call him one: the attack in the cemetery had come to light, all the worse for his hiding it. They could not afford to fight among themselves.

Hiei turned to Urameshi. "It wasn't your fault. You can't guard someone 24-7."

Some of the fight went out of him then. "They're jerking us around like puppets!" He slid onto the bench next to Hiei.

"And technically speaking, I didn't kill those men. Their own bomb did." Hiei rose and glanced at Genkai's temple. Everyone was filing out, heading toward them. "What do you know. They got sick of waiting."

0-0-0-0-0

Carlos congratulated himself. Though the Boss was reeling drunk and had sprayed fire all over the warehouse, he hadn't lit anything up, nor killed a single one of his own forces. Cautiously, he followed the demon king into the office.

The Boss stumbled against the desk, maneuvered himself behind it, and thumped into the chair. He regarded Carlos through unfocused black eyes.

"Siddown," he slurred. "Got somethin' t' tell ya."

0-0-0-0-0

"Got a little something to show you all." Hiei glanced around at the group gathered outside; he had led them some distance from the temple, to a hillside overlooking the forest.

Father Brian exchanged shrugs with Genkai. Kuwabara gave him a peculiar stare, while Urameshi scrubbed off excess energy by bouncing on his toes like a prizefighter. Kurama stood near the girls as if lending them his calm. He took out his video camera; then, thinking better of it, slid it back in his pocket.

Hiei's contact with Kurama after their stage fight had proved the tipping point for the return of the fox-boy's powers---just as Youko's act of desperation had helped to re-forge the Dragon into what it was now.

"That tree." Hiei pointed to a towering, broken pine in the distance, its top hanging by a shred of bark. He stripped his gauntlet, exposing the Dragon. Liquid and alive, it stirred on his arm, raising startled gasps from the onlookers. Lifting his hand like a falconer unleashing a kestrel, Hiei whispered, "Go."

And the Dragon soared off his arm, flashing silvered-black in the air. It flew straight for the broken tree. A murder of crows burst from its branches. Hiei watched them flap off, then whispered a second command to the Dragon.

It responded eagerly, and the tree met its end in a flash of white fire that burned swift and fierce, then subsided.

Father Brian whistled. "Holy smoke," he said.

"That's probably just about the size of it." Hiei recalled the Dragon and warded it.

The girls exchanged wide-eyed looks. Genkai grunted in satisfaction. Keiko asked, "So it's tame now?" and Kurama replied that it appeared that way.

"I told Yuusuke we were at war," said Hiei. "Now we have a new weapon."

"And then some," muttered Urameshi.

Kuwabara, thick-necked and narrow-eyed, folded his meaty arms. "Ain't you gonna pass out?"

Hiei narrowed his own eyes and assessed his condition. An attack of any sort demands energy, and he was not in prime shape, but nowhere near as depleted as the Dragon attacks used to leave him. "Doesn't feel like it."

"Good," said Kuwabara. "That's one less runt I gotta carry back inside."

0-0-0-0-0

The effects of sake laid a fine, gentle mist over the past, making it if not pleasant to recall, then at least bearable.

He had difficulty remembering her name now. But she was beautiful. That much had stayed with him.

If he had a name, he had forgotten it as well. He had forgotten many things over the years: his birth, the name of his homeland, the names of comrades.

But he had never forgotten _her_.

Twenty-one years ago he had been in his prime: a powerful fire demon, leader of an army of cunning and ruthless _youkai_ who were loyal to one another and more importantly, to him.

Even other fire demons paid tribute to him, in his remote mountain stronghold. But time had wrought its havoc. Once sleek, swift and muscular, he was now bulging in the middle, just the slightest bit clumsy. Even his arcane powers had waned. Yet he was still a formidable foe, an enemy to be reckoned with, not to be taken lightly.

On the fateful day he met her, his strength was at its peak.

The realm of the Kourime is not well-known even in Makai; only a handful have seen it. Fewer still have seen a living ice maiden. Self-sufficient, retiring unto isolationism, the ice maidens inhabit a world of glacial splendor floating high above the rest of the demon plane. The women are lovely; and unlike fire demons, who are old at 40, Kourime seem near-immortal.

And that was the bit that perplexed him. By all rights, she should have outlived him.

So beautiful, so delicate, yet she could withstand sub-freezing temperatures. No---_thrive_ in them.

What happened to her should not have happened at all. He couldn't explain it, not even to himself. He was trying now.

Compelling, alien, the ground was crusted with diamond-glittered snow. Like a moth to flame he had come to her, drawn by the lure of her ice-colored hair and ruby eyes. But it was he who was made of flame. The ice melted in a pool around him when he made landfall near her.

And she had not been afraid.

In time, he had to move on. But she should have been waiting to greet him when he came back for her later, as promised.

It was the fault of that damned kid. If not for that little bastard she would still be with him.

Hina. That was her name. Hina.

"Gotta say somethin'." He did not remember to whom he was speaking, or why. "Only gon' say it once."

"What's that, Boss?" The thing in front of him was human, with a compact and powerful build. Brown hair was scraped back from a narrow forehead into a thick tail at the back of its neck.

"A thief is a coward. A robber takes what he wants. Target, he's a thief. Me, I'm a robber. Gon' take what he stole from me first. Then, his life."

0-0-0-0-0

The setting sun raked orange fingers across the floor of Genkai's temple, echoing the mood of quiet anger. They had exhausted the subject of the Dragon and moved on to the kidnaping. Gathered around a low table, they placed a steaming pot of tea in its center, along with thick hand-thrown clay cups and the inevitable bags of snack mix.

Genkai sat implacable, her brown eyes lidded, yet alert. Across from her sat a far less comfortable Father Brian, who still had not mastered the art of crouching on the floor, but his fierce black gaze indicated he was ready to join the battle.

A somber Keiko sat to the priest's right. Urameshi seemed to have expended all his temper on Hiei, and sat quietly next to her. Kuwabara had wedged himself next to Yukina, who was playing with the babies. Kurama sat near Genkai, his gaze turned inward.

Hiei glanced at Shay-san. His firebird looked all right. She looked like herself, if a bit pale and thin-lipped. You might never know she had almost met her end yesterday.

Yukina seemed as quiet as Keiko, as thoughtful as Kurama. Hiei manufactured a half-smile for his sister, and she gave him a genuine one in return, then brought up a key point.

"You're always saying how Michael understands everything," Yukina began. Michael sat in her lap, along with Cecilia, both comically twisting their heads to peer up at their aunt. "Maybe I'd better take them both into another room."

Hiei raised an eyebrow. "You don't mind?"

Yukina laughed. "Of course not. Just another privilege of being made an aunt at a shockingly young age."

As Yukina took the twins away, Kuwabara sighed in disappointment.

Then, like the police the day before, they examined the events from all angles, over and over again.

Thinking of Urameshi, Hiei concentrated on keeping his anger in check.

"So who the heck were these guys anyway?" Kuwabara snagged a bag of snack mix off a tray, passing it to Shay-san.

"More to the point, how did they know you two would be there, conveniently near the abandoned office building?" Kurama waved away Kuwabara's offer of wasabi peas.

"I---" Keiko lowered her head. "That's my fault, I'm afraid. I overheard that man make a telephone call about a recording studio, and since Shay-san's been so down lately I thought---well, I guess I didn't think. And then at Minamino-kun's I panicked and called the police---"

"Anyone would have," said Hiei.

"But," Keiko protested, raising her head, "I got you in trouble now. The police think you had something to do with Kenji and Lermontov's---"

"Not to worry about that, me girl." Father Brian smiled at Keiko. "That Obayashi, he's new on the force. Wants to make a bit of a splash. The older guy, Masumoto that is, he knows Hiei had nothin' to do with it."

Hiei grunted. "Didn't realize you were psychic too."

"Cops and priests. They go together like tea an' crumpets." Father Brian drained his cup. "Well, maybe not this tea," he conceded, pulling a face. "But I had a little confab with Masumoto. Relax---no one's arresting you."

Kuwabara ripped into the wasabi peas. "And why'd those guys grab Keiko and Shay-san?"

"Too bad we can't ask them directly." Kurama angled a rueful glance at Hiei.

"Kill first, debrief later." Shay-san crunched on a sesame stick. "I've gotten used to the way Hiei does things by now."

Genkai took a sip of tea. "How about going over the events one by one?"

While the members of Romantic Soldier were in America, their friends Ibuki, Lermontov and Yukawa Kenji had been attacked. Only Ibuki survived. After the return to Japan, Keiko and Shay-san were in the Myu-Myu district in search of a recording studio. On the way, two men had rendered them unconscious and tied them up in an abandoned office building, intending to have the building blow up with them in it.

"You were meant to overhear the call," said Kurama. "The man who made it---you say he wasn't physically imposing."

"I was behind the counter and not paying much attention to how he looked," Keiko elaborated. "I remember his voice, though---kind of wheezy, and he sounded urgent."

"It's a start," said Urameshi.

"Ibuki," mused Genkai. "She must have seen the killers."

Father Brian sighed. "Sure an' the poor girl doesn't remember a thing. Maybe it's better that way."

Genkai raised an eyebrow. "Where is she?"

"Safe." Father Brian shook his head. "Better you should not know where."

"Those men wanted us dead." Shay-san slid a hand into her pocket. "And not just any two girls. Us."

Keiko's set her tea down with a thump. "It was worse than the time I was trapped in school with those crazy teachers! Knocked out, held against my will, helpless!" She clenched her fists. Urameshi echoed her gesture while Shay-san made soothing noises. Then Keiko turned her bold brown eyes on Hiei. "But you saved me. I can't thank you enough."

Hiei looked at the floor.

"I wish I could help more," Keiko added. "Or remember something useful. But I couldn't understand their language."

Shay-san gave a papery smile. "Too bad for them I could."

Keiko opened her mouth; nothing came out.

"Spanish happens to be one language I have some familiarity with. I learned it in school, then picked up a bit more when I lived at that shrine in the desert---where Hiei came to steal the 'temple bells.'"

"S-spanish?" Keiko's mouth worked at last.

Shay-san spoke as if to herself. "They weren't Castilians. There's a sibilance in that dialect their speech lacked. Maybe they weren't Spaniards at all. They could have been Mexicans, or South Americans. Just a feeling I get. But I'm pretty sure the Spanish word for demon is still _demonio_."

Hiei gave his firebird a measuring look. "So that's what you were doing with all those books last night."

She nodded in confirmation. "I wanted to make sure I had it straight. And there were words I had to look up." She withdrew a small notebook from her pocket, much like the ones the cops used, and glanced at it. "They kept mentioning a man by the name of Carlos---their _jefe_---chief. And someone else who had the title of Boss, near as I could make out. The words 'Boss' and 'demon' were always linked."

"Swell." Urameshi propped his chin in one hand. "A demon named Boss. Should be a cinch finding him."

"It might not be impossible." Kurama absently bit into a wasabi pea, then pulled a face and spat it into his hand.

"So this Chief, this Carlos," Kuwabara wondered. "Did he have anything to do with murdering Lermontov and Kenji?"

"Not if he's human," Hiei said grimly.

"I'd have to agree," Shay-san continued. "And they were nervous. Afraid of someone. Of Carlos, or the demon. Plus, their timing was off. We woke up sooner than we were meant to, and they argued whether it was safe to leave us and run. They planned to get out of the building long before the bomb went off, but I... stalled them a bit. And then Hiei arrived."

"Yeah." Hiei glowered at his untasted tea. "I think I may have just possibly advanced their timer somewhat."

"Dammit." Kuwabara thumped a fist on the table. "Kidnaping a couple of girls and leaving them to die in an explosion! They may have been human but they sure weren't men."

"Now all we gotta do is find out who this 'Carlos' is," Urameshi muttered.

Kurama picked up a packet of snack mix, then changed his mind. "Koenma might know whether there's any 'Carlos' who consorts with demons."

"Diaper Boy'd just say that was my job," grumbled Urameshi.

Keiko lifted her cup, swirling the dregs of her tea. "Maybe we _had_ better report everything to the police."

"They won't be involved." The knife-edge in Shay-san's voice made Keiko turn a puzzled look on her.

"But why not?" Keiko asked. "Suppose more of them come after us?"

"That's guaranteed," said Father Brian.

Shay-san inclined her head toward Genkai. "Genkai once told me I could become a dangerous Spellcaster. Then she said: 'But you won't do it. You won't leave your kids long enough to complete the training.'"

Genkai snorted. "True."

"I'm sick of being played like a cat toy. Whoever took us knew some things but didn't know---certain other things." Shay-san gave Hiei a blazing glance, and he understood she meant their ability to communicate through his Jagan. "I want justice for my friends. Maybe those men didn't kill Lermontov and Kenji, but it's time to go on the offensive."

Genkai sighed in fond exasperation. "I keep telling you it would take at least a month, maybe two."

Shay-san leapt to her feet, little hands balled into fists. "Well, just watch me! Watch me pitch those babies at Yukina so fast your head will spin! Because I am going to find every last one responsible for this crap, rip the information from their skulls, and then stop their hearts."

Hiei caught his breath. Kurama got up too, alarm etched onto his features. "Shay-san! You can't go around killing--"

She quelled him with a look, her eyes flat and hard as slate. "I can kill as many as I want, as long as the cops don't catch me. And with Hiei around, there won't be any evidence."

A chill straked Hiei's spine.

"Geez, half-pint." Kuwabara shot him a wide-eyed stare. "And I thought _you_ were scary."

0-0-0-0-0

As the Boss laid open his past, Carlos had listened with a mixture of revulsion, horror and pity. Now the sun was setting, the office wreathed in darkness.

"Spellcastin' bitch." Pressing his hands against the desk, the Boss levered himself to his feet, ran a tongue over thick lips stained by sake. "She ain't gonna be able to do nothin' to me. Gonna see to it."

"You've had too much to drink," muttered Carlos.

"Target's gonna die. I swear it."

And what the Boss did next sent Carlos reeling out of the office into the alley between warehouses.

The waterfront stank of rotten egg and rang with the faint chitter of rat and jaki. Gulping deep breaths, Carlos tilted his head toward the sky. Fronds of fog drifted past.

What the Boss had done to himself was possibly the worst thing Carlos had ever witnessed, he who had grown up in the _favelas_ of Rio, who had survived the hunts, watched his companions killed and gutted for their organs and left in the streets like animals, he who had lost his sister Bebita.

But what the Boss had done to himself paled beside what he planned to do to others. Carlos pressed his hands against the side of the warehouse and retched.

_His son!_ Carlos thought. _He's going to murder his own son_!

0-0-0-0-0

(To be continued: A woman alone is vulnerable to intruders.)

-30-


	31. FS C30: The Demon in Front of Me!

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C30: "The Demon in Front of Me!"

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The enemy is not content to lie quiet.

A/N: The tale of Momotaro the Peach Boy is quite famous in Japan; look it up if you're interested! This is the last installment in the Back Home story arc. Hell Week arc commences directly after. As always, I thank you for reading this, and appreciate your reviews. Accompanying sketches on LJ homepagey.

Hiei can only stand by helplessly and watch!

Firebird Sweet C30: Back Home (part five, "The Demon in Front of Me!")

by

Kenshin

April Fool's day found Carlos in a bind.

He strolled the downtown streets where early evening foot traffic burgeoned, appearing to be in no particular hurry. But his mind was in disarray.

He had listened to the Boss' life story with a mix of pity, fascination and disbelief.

And then watched, in horrified revulsion, as the demon king flexed his clawed hands, and---to safeguard against the fire-haired Spellcaster---one by one, ruptured his own eardrums.

The Boss may have been deaf now, but he could still read lips. Could he also read minds?

Though the air was cool, sweat beaded on his skin, and though the evening shadows fell, Carlos wore dark glasses.

Waiting the traffic light, Carlos wondered how he could get out of this alive.

Prison was not for him. But if he fled, no hellhole on earth would prove deep enough to hide him. He would take the fall for the murder of those Mexican guards. Who would believe his story of being sprung by demons?

Gritting his teeth, he headed for the alley near the Silver Moon Cafe, where the dun-brown jaki would convey his orders to one of their two human operatives left alive.

And it was Ozawa Hideo whom Carlos had chosen for this task, not the bigger, more powerful Azuma Ken. That one was nuts, had failed them once already, and was likely to leave a bloody trail that could readily be traced back to Carlos.

But---could the young demon actually win this game of cat and mouse? The target's Dragon, according to spies, was once again under his control. The Boss might have an evil eye, but he lacked a Dragon. And what would happen to Carlos if the target and his cohort prevailed? Not impossible. They had thwarted the Boss time and again without even trying, without knowing who came against them.

In brutal honesty, Carlos knew he didn't care for the target one way or another. It was the Boss' proposed slaughter of his own offspring that had rattled him. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.

Bypassing the comfort of the Silver Moon, Carlos slid into the reeking alley instead, where he ducked behind a dumpster and tried to calm himself.

The Spellcaster. Her babies. Innocents condemned to death.

No. That was none of his concern. The only way out was to think of the target as a mere objective, not a person. Concentrating on the next step, isolating each moment from that which had come before and that which was still to come---only in this way could he survive it all.

The fire-haired girl had a routine now. The target left the house each dawn, and returned after dark. Early in the morning, an old lady arrived---that troublesome creature who lived in her remote mountain temple. She left before the target returned. A moment would come when the girl was alone and helpless.

Carlos would send Ozawa and the olive-colored oni. Olive was more than up to the killing; Ozawa would be the wheel man. And they would be armed against her Spellcasting. The girl and her twins would soon die. And the target would know the searing pain of their loss.

0-0-0-0-0

On a cool, cloudy April morning, with the promise of rain in the sky, a young woman sat in a house, the door unlocked.

Upstairs, her twin babies slept.

Anyone could have walked in on them. In this particular neighborhood, the persons most likely to do so were the schoolfriends of the boy who lived there, or some of his sister's crowd, or lately, an old reiki master.

All fully human, none wishing her harm. This morning, however, luck ran out.

The snick of a turning doorknob is a very small sound, easily missed. So are the sounds of footsteps, when the people breaking into a house---though technically, since the doors were unlocked, there was no break-in---do not wish to advertise that fact to the outside world.

In either case, the housebreakers who paused inside the _genkan_ were strangers, and not welcome, and their intentions were not benevolent.

There were two of them. One of the pair was a youngish fellow, somewhat above medium height, whose greasy black hair was arranged in long wings on either side of his face, as if to disguise its round contours and the prominent jut of his nose. He wore a wrinkled blue suit that strained at its single button.

The other intruder was broad and tall, muffled in a loose garment similar to a raincoat, and he wore a hat jammed low over his sloping forehead. His skin was a dull olive hue.

This was the home they had been instructed to invade. The fire-haired girl in the living room was flipping through a magazine, her gaze intent on its pages. She did not look up.

"Come in, gentlemen." A low, soothing voice emerged from the girl's lips. The invaders entered the living room.

"Sit across from me," she continued, but they did not obey.

The young woman let the magazine slide to the floor and regarded the two males, a frown puckering her brow.

"So that's how it is," she said softly.

On the far side of the room, the heavy green curtains in front of the window twitched, then stilled.

"Very well," she said. "If it comes to this."

The man in the blue suit reached into his pocket and grasped something he had secreted there. The creature in the raincoat lurched forward, huge and menacing.

And the girl raised her left hand, palm-up, as if in supplication.

From her palm rose a curl of smoke, innocent-looking as that from a cigarette or a stick of incense---unless one examined it closely. Even then, the smoke's fluidity made it almost impossible to discern its dragon shape.

The curl of smoke lengthened, sailed toward the olive-skinned creature, subsumed into his nostrils, and then, just as swiftly, moved on to the man in the blue suit.

Both invaders reached up to their ears, digging, searching. Their fingers worked. They plucked out the ear stoppers they had placed there, then dropped them to the floor.

"Now. The two of you in front of me. Be seated."

They complied, man and demon alike, sinking into chairs opposite the girl.

"The demon in front of me, the one in the raincoat," purred the young woman. "What is your heart-name, the secret name you call yourself?"

The olive-skinned creature passed his tongue quickly over thick lips and looked down at his big hands. "Kouhaku."

"Ah. The name means 'amber.' Very good, Kouhaku."

The man in the blue suit made a sudden, jerky movement, and the girl flicked him a scornful glance. "Keep your seat, human. I will deal with you in good time."

The human subsided, sitting like an obedient puppet.

Turning to the demon, the girl said: "The demon in front of me, whose heart-name is Kouhaku. Who sent you here?"

"I don't remember."

"Liar." The young woman repeated: "Who SENT you."

"I don't know his name!" The demon's hands flew to his head, knocking off his hat; his yellowish hair was tonsured like a friar's. Rising from his forehead were the stubs of two horns that had been blunted, possibly to accommodate the hat.

"The one who sent you. Is he the demon they call The Boss?"

"I don't know his name," the olive-skinned creature repeated. "No one does." His face twisted in pain.

Her gray eyes regarded him steadily. "Then how did you know where to come?"

"The jaki tell us. And Carlos."

"Carlos," she repeated. "The one you call Chief."

"Yes."

"The jaki." A sharp note entered her voice. "What color?"

"One dun-brown. Another, gray."

"Have they tails?"

"No.

"The gray one? You're sure?"

"No tail."

"What shade of gray?"

"Dark."

She released a sigh. "Very good, Kouhaku. Tell me about Carlos. Is he from Spain?"

"No, he's from Mexico. No, wait, Colombia."

The woman glanced toward the heavy green curtains. "Demon in front of me, whose heart-name is Kouhaku, did you have anything to do with kidnaping me and one other girl on March 24th in the Myu-Myu district?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"Carlos."

"And why did Carlos do this?"

"Carlos does whatever the Boss tells him."

The young woman folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the floor. One of her espadrille-clad feet tapped as she waited. She looked again at the demon, and when she spoke there was a new, knife-edged quality in her voice that was painful to hear.

"Kouhaku. Have you killed any humans while you have been here in Ningenkai?"

"Yes."

"Where and when?"

"Some guards, in Mexico, last year. This year, two men. The girl got away though."

The young woman cried out, but quickly mastered herself. "What two men?"

"One was a director. The other a dance instructor."

"What were their names?"

"Lermontov and Kenji."

Outside, thunder tolled, low and ominous.

"Demon in front of me, whose heart-name is Kouhaku. Do you have, in fact, a single heart that powers your blood and brain?"

"Yes. A single heart."

"I ask again: what is his name? The Boss demon?"

The demon twitched, let out a groan. "I don't know!"

"Kouhaku." Low, smooth, mellifluous, her gifted voice pressed him. "Does Carlos know the name of the Boss demon?"

"I d-don't think so! No one does!"

"Where does he live, this Boss demon?"

His cry of pain did not constitute an answer. Sweat broke out on the demon's brow.

The soft voice insisted. "Where does the Boss demon live?"

The sound that escaped the demon's clenched teeth was not even a sigh.

And from his hiding place behind the heavy green curtains that shielded the side window, the demon named Hiei shivered.

Romantic Soldier's bookings had slacked off. There was free time. So, as he had done today and every day since the post-mortem at Genkai's, Hiei left the house at dawn. But today, he'd doubled back unseen. No one could track him at his best speed.

Each day, Hiei had searched for the culprits to no avail, consulting with Kurama to no avail, visiting and re-visiting the scene of each attack, combing for evidence.

Kurama was as frustrated with the situation as Hiei, and had quite candidly admitted that while his powers had returned, they were still weak and raw. A Spellcaster might come in handy.

_I will rip the information from their skulls and then stop their hearts._ That is what his firebird had said at Genkai's.

"The demon in front of me, whose heart-name is Kouhaku." The girl rose. Her voice clawed the room. "Where is the Boss?"

"He---No! Ah, the pain!---" The demon whose heart-name was Kouhaku bared his teeth, not a threat but an expression of agony. "Three places!"

"Where are those places?"

"The f-first one is----he stays at---at..." The voice sputtered and trailed off.

"Kouhaku!" Her voice ripped another shudder from Hiei. "Tell me!"

And the demon whose heart-name was Kouhaku made a choking sound. He went boneless, fell from the chair, landed on the floor with a heavy wet thump, and did not move again.

Hiei had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out. But there was nothing he could do to stem his shaking. He gripped both hands together to keep from giving himself away.

"Now." In cool dismissal of the demon, the young woman sat, and swiveled slightly in her chair to face the other intruder. "The human before me. What is your heart-name? The secret name you call yourself?"

With a frightened look at the dead demon, he replied, in a wheezy, urgent voice, "Momotaro."

"Ahhh." The girl nodded. "The tale of the peach boy."

Hiei bit his lip.

This girl was no martial artist. He had been glad of that, and for that reason, he hid today, as back-up should anything go wrong. She had a gun---a Beretta Cheetah---that she scornfully referred to as a 'mouse gun.' She would use it in self-defense, but she had not drawn it in all the time he had known her, except in occasional target practice at Genkai's.

Hiei knew what his own training had cost him, what it had done to the subtle warp and weft of his soul. Shay-san had trained with Genkai for slightly over a week. What had such brief, intense training done to his firebird? Her cool disregard, with a dead oni at her feet---what would she do to that shivering nonentity of a human?

He recalled what Genkai had said to him last year, of his firebird's potential: _"With a single word, she could stop a man's heart."_

"Momotaro," said the firebird, her voice sweet and beguiling. "I want you to add to what the demon Kouhaku has already told me."

'Momotaro' cringed. "He was telling the truth! Jaki find us, tell us where to go! Except when I met Carlos."

"Momotaro, were you never curious as to why?"

The human shrugged. "As long as I got paid I didn't care."

"I see. Momotaro, have you worked with the demon known to himself as Kouhaku before?"

"No."

"What is the name you give to the world?"

"Ozawa Hideo."

"And have you killed many people?"

"What?" He shook his head vigorously; this was no look of feigned indignation. "I never killed no one! Lifted wallets and ran numbers and stuff like that. Sometimes I'm the wheel man."

"Where do the jaki meet you, Momotaro?"

"They find you wherever you are. On the street. In a room. They find you."

"This Carlos. Where and when did you meet him?"

"A while ago. Alley near the Silver Moon Cafe. After that, the jaki gave the orders."

"What were you ordered to do now?"

"Get the woman and the babies. Bring them to the cave."

"And where is the cave?"

"The jaki didn't say."

"Momotaro. How were you to know where the cave was?"

"The jaki would see us come out, then lead us to a car."

"How were you to do this in broad daylight?"

"I have something on a rag. It's in my pocket."

"Something?"

"The jaki said it was like chloroform. If I put the rag over your mouth you would get the kids and come with me. If not, there was always the demon."

Hiei's head jerked back. _Michael! Cecilia!_ He bared his fangs. For a burning moment he hoped Shay-san would really do what she had sworn to do, that she would kill that man.

But to cross that line now would leave a stain on her soul. She must not become a murderer! Hiei reached for the curtains.

"Stay where you are," she said.

And Hiei froze, unable to move so much as a finger.

"The human in front of me, whose heart-name is Momotaro."

Hiei's prayer was silent: _Please. Don't let her do this_.

"Have you, Momotaro, told me everything you know about the jaki, and the jobs they direct you to do?"

"Yes, yes! It was just the two other jobs."

"And which would those jobs be?"

"I was supposed to watch outside Mercy Hospital and call in when the jaki told me you were dead," he wheezed.

"What phone number did you call?"

"Don't remember. The jaki told me just before I made the call. Then I made another call at the Yukimura diner about a recording studio in the Myu-Myu district. I was supposed to sell it, make it sound like the deal of the century! Only there was no one on the other end."

"Momotaro, who is Carlos?"

He spoke through chattering teeth. "D-don't know."

"Yet you met him."

"Once! When he first found me. In this business it ain't smart to get curious."

"What does Carlos look like?"

"Dunno. Dark glasses. Long brown hair in a tail."

She uttered a little sound of exasperation. "Where is the Boss Demon?"

"The---?"

Hiei was unable even to reach for his rosary. He continued his silent prayer.

"Boss demon?"

"The one Kouhaku mentioned."

"I got no idea! All I know is this Carlos guy!"

"Momotaro."

"Y-yes?"

"Momotaro, you will obey my every command now."

The man's head dropped forward; greasy wings of black hair hid his face. "Yes," he whispered.

Outside, thunder shook the air again, the tolling of a distant bell. Hiei could not even tremble.

"Momotaro, you will forget coming to this house. You will forget this exchange. You will forget my face and the people who sent you, and the bonds you forged with the demon world. You will never again speak to a jaki. You will leave this house on foot and tell no one what occurred here. You will get a decent job, and never again commit another crime."

The man in the wrinkled blue suit jerked to his feet and staggered to the front door. Pulling it open, he stumbled out, then pulled the door shut behind him.

The ticking of the kitchen clock was loud, but Hiei's heartbeats drowned it out.

The girl slumped in her chair. "Hiei---Please, come out."

Hiei fumbled the green curtains aside and emerged, staggering like the reprieved Ozawa. Astounding, the amount of energy you expended just keeping still.

"They never took their shoes off," he said.

"The body." She spoke to him but did not look at him, her gaze fixed on the floor, her voice weak as if she, too, had used up a great deal of energy.

As she had. Spellcasting, like any other power, was not without its costs.

Hiei lifted the heavy body of the olive-skinned oni and removed it via the back door. The clouds had gathered into an angry gray fist.

Like many of the houses in this neighborhood, the Kuwabara's yard was guarded by tall white fencing. It provided both noise protection and privacy, but its builders had probably not intended it to block the sight of a rogue demon's immolation.

Hiei flicked to the roof. No dun-brown jaki. Near-impossible to trace due to their minuscule _ki_ and size, jaki were favored as spies and minions. Hiei had used them himself many times, and, unlike Shay-san with her little gray 'pet,' did not care what became of them.

They were being watched. That little one with the broken nose and rufous Mohawk, the one his firebird worried about, said as much. The enemy knew their routine.

Stalking and striking from an unknown base was a sound battle strategy, leading to fear and confusion in the target.

Leaping from the roof, Hiei landed, dragged the dead oni to the center of the yard and burnt it to ash. If anyone saw the brief flash of smoke, they might think he was burning leaves. It was the wrong time of year, but who cared about such details?

Staring down at the small pile of ash, Hiei felt the first cold drops of rain patter against his neck. He wondered if it could wash away his fears.

And then he was back in the living room, looking at his firebird. She did not appear to have moved.

She turned to him. Her face was pinched and white, making the glimmering gumdrop eyes seem enormous. "I had no choice. We agreed to this." Her voice sailed up a notch. "We knew sooner or later they would come for me and the kids, and sooner or later they would catch us alone! That's why we set this trap!"

"Pity you killed that demon before he told you where to find the Boss." Immediately he regretted his statement.

"Hiei." Her voice cracked now, her teeth chattered. Her whole body shook uncontrollably. "I didn't k-kill him. Someone else d-did."

He saw then that she was riding a knife-edge between control and hysteria; his heart twisted with compassion. He went to her side, wrapped his arms around her, transferred some of his heat, tried to calm her shaking. He sat in silence. Tied to the human world for good or ill now, why was it so difficult to send love from his mouth?

His wife. His kids. He must protect them at all cost. She should not have had to do this. He should have been the one to rout out the killers and destroy them.

Then he remembered what he'd told Yuusuke back at Genkai's: _You can't guard someone 24/7_.

"I need to shower." She got up, then looked at the floor where the magazine still lay. Where the dead demon had fallen and covered it. "This has made me feel dirty."

(To be continued: Shiori provides a brief respite from battle)

-30-


	32. FS C31: Hell Week, Part One

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C31: Gaining Shiori

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: There is an unsettled feeling in the air.

A/N: Yes, adult adoptions in Japan are real. Look it up!

As always, my accompanying sketches are on my LJ homepagey. Thanks for reading, and please review.

"Hiei---can you explain this?"

Firebird Sweet C31: Hell Week (Gaining Shiori, part one)

by

Kenshin

"April is the cruellest month." -- T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei again dreamed of The Stranger.

Everything was in a blaze of white, throwing The Stranger's black hair and turquoise eyes into stark relief. "You have to go back," the deep, fluting voice told him.

_Back? Back where?_

0-0-0-0-0

That Hiei was a genuine orphan, Kurama did not doubt---but the laws governing Japanese adoptions are many and complex.

Some so-called 'orphans' have living relatives, but remain in orphanages where they are fed, housed, educated. And not the least puzzling law where outsiders are concerned is that adult adoptions, while unusual, are not unheard of.

There is, for instance, _fuufu youshi_, in which a married couple is adopted. Kurama wondered whether that was what Kaasan had in mind.

Shiori was downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast on this Monday morning; the enticing, salty aroma of miso soup curled through his bedroom door.

Rarely, a Japanese son judged unworthy has his position

usurped by an adopted male, one believed better qualified to carry on family traditions.

If he had wanted, Kurama could view Shiori's choice to adopt as an insult, however subtle. An indication that he would not, or could not, provide the Minamino family with heirs.

He heard Kaasan singing along with a radio ad for _nori,_ and then she switched stations. Romantic Soldier's first hit came on, bringing from her a giggle of delight.

No. Shiori's mind did not run along such lines. She wanted to comfort a motherless pair, and spoil the twins rotten.

Well. Semi-rotten, at any rate.

Hiei made an unusual friend. The notion of having him as a brother---

Sighing, Kurama went down to breakfast.

0-0-0-0-0

How could the sky still reflect cerulean, and the breeze caress her face? How could it pretend to be such a fine, warm April morning, when everything had changed?

Shayla Kidd sat in the Kuwabara yard, under the tree from which dangled Kuwa-chan's punching bag. The bag was painted to resemble Urameshi Yuusuke; it usually made her smile, but not today. Today, two days after the enemy invasion, she kept darting nervous glances at the house, where the twins slept in their stroller. Not alone, but guarded by Shizuru.

Neither was she alone.

"Jaki jaki jaki," she crooned. "Good little jaki."

In her palm, his fur like velvet to her fingers, sat the gray jaki who had spied upon them outside the love hotel. The prehensile tail curled round her wrist as he nibbled rice crackers, the very human face intent behind the broken nose, the comical tuft of rufous fur standing up on his head like a badly-barbered Mohawk.

He had been watching her from the shelter of the tree.

What sort of lives did these creatures live, she wondered. Kurama thought them vermin; Hiei echoed the sentiment.

But when Ozawa Hideo had revealed his contact was a dun-brown jaki, Shayla's relief was exquisite.

She had done her best during the difficult interrogation. Learning that the oni had murdered her friends shook her, prevented her from conducting a more thorough debriefing.

This particular jaki had spied upon them before. Was he even now working for the mysterious 'Boss' as well?

The little creature's insignificant weight warmed her palm. He gazed up at her with liquid black eyes. "I won't hurt you," she whispered again.

0-0-0-0-0

There was something about Minamino Shiori that made Hiei want to behave himself. Behind her gentleness, Shiori possessed a strength that Hiei could only guess at.

That she wanted to see him wasn't much of a surprise; that she specifically asked him not to bring Shay-san nor the twins was, to put it bluntly, a shock. It was such an anomaly that, restless and jumpy from dreams, unsettled and angry from the home invasion, Hiei went to see her nonetheless.

Had Shiori learned how Shay-san defeated the intruders, and become wary of the girl? Though Hiei had no wish to alarm her, he would explain the reasons for their ambush if necessary.

So he sat in the Minamino dining room of a late Monday afternoon, teacup before him, waiting for Shiori to speak.

What came next was totally unexpected.

Shiori lifted a piece of yellow paper between thumb and forefinger, as though afraid of contamination. "This flyer."

The paper was folded into quarters, badly crumpled. Hiei unfolded it, read it.

Somewhere within him lived a tight coil of rage, wanting only the correct stimulus to lash it into fierce motion. His muscles tensed---muscles that could react with lightning speed, whose power had obliterated many a foe.

But how could you fight what you could not see? "Where did you get this?"

"Just tell me if it's true."

"Filthy rag." Hiei ignited the paper, letting the ashes sift into his cup. A few flakes clung to its rim.

"Hiei?" Her voice was carefully controlled.

_Not Hi-chan_, he noted. "Filthy rag," he repeated. "Everything in it is true. Everything in it is a lie."

Kaasan raised an expectant eyebrow. Glowering, Hiei began.

0-0-0-0-0

If Kurama had not followed Hiei into the men's room, none of this would have happened.

Some time before the twins had been born, Shay-san was not feeling well. So when Kurama showed up with Urameshi in tow, wanting to take them all out, Hiei refused.

However, Shay-san all but shoved him out the door, along with Kuwabara. "Go," she sniffled, red-eyed from a cold. "At least one of us will have a good time."

Hiei and Kurama outlasted Urameshi, who stuck with them until they hit the third club, and outperformed Kuwabara, who bailed early, pleading a science test the next day.

Hiei let the music tell him what to do. And he let it tell him for two glorious, sweaty, carefree hours in the teeming Club Paragon.

But his extravagant maneuvers made his knee wrap come loose. Uncomfortable, he darted for the men's room, Kurama hard on his heels. Away from the noise, Hiei turned a questioning eyebrow on the fox-boy.

Kurama jerked his head at Hiei. "The wrap prints against your jeans."

"Keh." Unzipping, sliding down his jeans---far too snug to address the wrap by rolling up his cuff---Hiei bent forward and yanked at the bandages around his left knee. "Pain in the---"

"You'll only make it worse." Kneeling, Kurama had the loosened wrap off in seconds.

"Hold it." Hiei shot a glance at the door. "This might seem---odd."

"I never knew you could kick up such a fuss." Kurama pushed him into one of the stalls, adding scornfully, "Baby."

With deft fingers, Kurama held the elastic taut and took two full wraps beneath Hiei's knee before forming the 'butterfly' on the kneecap itself. Indicating the little welts formed by the tight elastic wrappings, he inquired, "Hurt much?"

Hiei rolled his eyes, drumming impatiently against the side of the stall. "Just hurry up, would you?"

"Almost there," murmured Kurama, his words muffled a bit by the bandage's end held between his teeth. He wound two careful turns above the knee.

Hiei tapped his other foot. "Come on, come on, I don't have all minute!"

One finger keeping the wrap in place, Kurama scowled up at him. "Do you always have to be in such a rush?"

"Do you always have to take so long?"

Kurama went back to wrapping. "Just one more---"

"OW!"

"Sorry." Kurama eased the elastic back a bit.

Hiei gave a little groan of impatience. "Just finish!"

Kurama tart reply was somewhat muffled. Pulling the last bit taut, he tucked the extra length of bandage neatly and securely among the elastic layers. "You should be good for an hour or so."

"About time!" Flashing back into his jeans, Hiei snickered. "You could make a living at this, if I do say so myself."

"Hold it." Kurama put out a warning hand. "I thought I just heard someone---"

Shoving past him, Hiei snorted. "In a public bathroom? Imagine that."

0-0-0-0-0

Shiori blinked at him, one hand on her cheek, which had flushed a deep pink color.

"Remember the time we shot Firebird Lament?"

"Yes! I held out one of the curtains to block the view."

"And then Ku--I mean, Minamino-kun fixed my knee wrap."

"It's all right to call him Kurama." Shiori graced him with a smile.

"And we weren't dancing _with_ each other at that stupid club," he continued, with a touch of irritation. "We were dancing _at_ each other. A mock-combat routine, something we worked out beforehand. Almost walloped him a couple times by accident. You should have seen it."

Shiori glanced at the ashen remains of the scandal sheet. "Who would do such a thing?"

Hiei shook his head. Kurama had advised him to ignore it: ('Any attempt at an answer will just add fuel to the fire.') Perhaps it was unfair to think of Kaitou Yuu, Kurama's classmate and writer-about-town. Perhaps the poorly photographed, badly printed rag was due to another sort of stalker altogether.

"They got it all---not only the photo, but right down to the dialogue." He could not keep the snarl from his voice.

"Hi-chan. I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. Carrying on like a twelve year-old."

"You have every right to enjoy yourself."

"Not if it casts suspicion on your son and worries you."

"I wanted to believe it wasn't true."

"Who gave you that yellow rag anyway?"

"I was out to dinner with Hatanaka-san and his son."

"Little Shuu? Never imagined he would---"

"A friend of his was there as well. The friend had this flyer. I don't believe I was meant to overhear."

"And what did Little Shuu say?"

"He---rather vehemently defended my son. And you."

"Good boy."

Shiori took a long breath. "Well, that settles it."

"Settles what?"

"I'm going ahead with the adoption."

Hiei took a reflex sip from his cup, gagged on the ash, and made a run for the kitchen to rinse his mouth.

He returned to see the implacable Shiori with her hands folded on the table.

"Sorry. I thought you said go ahead with the adoption."

"You heard correctly."

Hiei licked ash-tasting lips. "But that was just something you said to put the cops off."

"No, I'm quite serious."

An absurd little thump sounded in his chest, which he hoped was a heart attack, and not what he feared. "You already have a son. And you gain another when you marry Hatanaka-san. Surely that man won't---"

"Hatanaka-san likes you," she said placidly. Her lips twitched, holding back mirth. "And my son isn't even seventeen. Grandchildren loom far in the future. It's not every day a woman gets the chance to instantly acquire two beautiful grandbabies who are in need of spoiling---I mean, grandparents."

"They have Aunt Carmel and Uncle Paul to spoil them. Not to mention the Macbeth Trio."

"Who live all the way in America. How often will you get to see them? Twice a year?"

"My papers won't stand close scrutiny. Ask Father Brian."

"The priest?" Shiori's mouth twitched again. "I imagine we can overcome our mutual language barrier and work something out."

Hiei made another weak attempt to dissuade her. "Kurama won't like it."

"He'll get used to it."

In truth, Hiei was stunned by the intensity of his longing. A heart attack would indeed be preferable to what burned in his chest. But he could not let Shiori do this, could not accept. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"I investigated the laws."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Hiei looked at his cup, took a long breath. Perhaps uncomfortable to speak of this, but better discomfort than raw need.

And while shadows lengthened at their feet, Hiei told Shiori of his life.

By the time Hiei finished it was almost dark. Shiori sat at the dining room table blinking back tears.

"I can't bear it." Groping for her teacup with one scarred hand, she brushed her face with the other. "Poor Hi-chan."

"Stop saying poor me." Hiei's voice cut through the fading light. "It made me strong."

"Forgive me if I don't quite share your off-handed view."

"Kaasan... the past is over and done with."

"Liar."

Hiei knew she would never have spoken so directly to Kurama, and said as much. "You just proved what you deny. Because I am strong, you feel free to say such things." He rose, lifted the lid of the teapot. Empty.

_Don't be kind_, he wanted to say. _Kindness destroys me. I can take any sort of pain, but not this_.

"At the very least," she said, "you will be able to watch over Kurama, as a true big brother should."

"At the very least," Hiei countered, "Kurama will be truly angry that I made you cry."

"Then we'd better not give him reason." But her eyes still gleamed with unshed tears.

Hiei sensed a flash of aura. "He's coming," he whispered, turning on the light.

The front door opened, then Kurama was slipping off his shoes in the _genkan_, calling out that he was back.

And when he reached the dining room, a pile of books under one arm, Kaasan had dried her eyes. Kurama paused in the doorway, regarding them both with suspicion.

"Welcome home," they chorused.

Kurama muttered, "I see we have company."

Shiori looked at Hiei. A giggle burst from her; it had the shrill sound of overcompensation.

Kurama glanced from his mother to Hiei.

"Tea?" Shiori half-rose, but Kurama refused the offer.

"Thank you. A bit later, if you don't mind." He narrowed his eyes at Hiei. "And a word with you in my room. _Now_."

"Uh-oh." Hiei glanced at Kaasan; she indicated it would be all right. A bit reluctantly, he followed Kurama to his room.

"All right." Kurama slammed his books on the desk and rounded on Hiei. "What did you do to my mother?"

"Told her my life story." Hiei shrugged.

"You don't tell that to anyone."

"She beat it out of me. Remember this is Kaasan we're talking about."

"And?---"

Hiei sighed. "Apparently she's still hellbent on adoption."

"Lovely."

"I told her she already has a wonderful son."

"Suck-up."

"What Kaasan wants, she gets."

Kurama flung himself dramatically onto the bed. "I don't believe I like the idea of you as an older brother. I never wanted to be triplets." He brushed back his hair in a long-suffering gesture. "Although unlike you, Little Shuu's pleasant enough, and I'd still have seniority over him. And I might adapt to the idea of a sister, especially one who's too petite to cause me any real damage."

"You haven't caught the sharp edge of her tongue yet."

"Think not?" Rising, Kurama laughed and advanced on Hiei.

"Deal with it, Horse." Hiei set his stance, intending to give Kurama a friendly shove back onto the bed.

And thought of the scandal sheet.

Checking himself in mid-move, Hiei went to the window. For an instant, he felt he did not fit inside his own skin.

Romantic Soldier was kaput. No question now of building his firebird a house. In the space of a year, much had changed.

Then, Kurama was at his side, knifing him with a sidelong glance. "What was all that about just now?"

So many traps lurking. So many ways to slip up. Hiei would have to watch himself carefully from now forward, and not just against enemy _youkai_. "Not a thing."

Kurama stood there for so long that Hiei looked up at last, and met his gaze. Those old, old eyes in the young face told Hiei that Kurama had seen everything, and knew, and did not mock.

Finally, Kurama grinned. "Just don't expect me to call you Big Brother."

-30-

(To be continued: treason and poison make a deadly duo)


	33. FS C32: The Poisoned Rose

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C32: The Poisoned Rose

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Memory is not the only thing lost.

A/N: Researching poisons for this chapter was ... innteresting. Sketches up on my LJ homepagey, you know the drill. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

All he wanted was to be left in peace.

Firebird Sweet C32: Hell Week (part two,The Poisoned Rose)

by

Kenshin

When they learned of Ozawa's failure and Olive's demise, Carlos had expected the Boss to break down again. Instead, the demon lord reacted with a cool, cut-your-losses strategy---and something rather unexpected.

"Good opportunity," the Boss assured Carlos. "See, the fox-boy may be back in business an' the target may have control of that Dragon again, but I got a plan that'll take care of three birds with one stone."

And in the little warehouse office, the Boss explained to Carlos exactly how he intended to accomplish his new offensive.

0-0-0-0-0

Tokyo Central Wholesale Market lies within a cavernous, bustling building near the famed Ginza district. Open at 4 AM, it may well be the world's largest purveyor of seafood, selling close to 450 different kinds: squid, crab, tuna, sea urchin, and many other varieties most Westerners have never laid eyes upon.

Neatly stacked boxes of fish form aisles for the benefit of wholesale buyers in search of the freshest seafood on the planet. Early-morning tuna auctions enliven the chilly interior, and the market is a favorite of film crews and tourists.

But Ozawa Hideo was simply looking forward to the next issue of _One Pound Gospel_.

Takahashi Rumiko's tale of a novitiate nun who helps train an aspiring boxer made him laugh, filled him with dreams. Maybe someday he could become a boxer like the character Kosaku. And it wouldn't hurt to meet a cute girl like Sister Angela.

In appearance, Ozawa was a rather unremarkable, stocky man in his 20s, distinguished only by long black wings of hair which obscured a nose too large for his face.

But in his heart, he thought of himself as Momotaro, hero of the classic Japanese tale of the Peach Boy. He would never reveal this to anyone, of course, and recent events (all right; not-so-recent events as well) seemed subject to confusion, but he knew the name of Momotaro was deeply meaningful and arose from a better part of himself.

Or maybe he read too much manga.

All he wanted on this April evening was to finish his shift, take his meager paycheck, and return to his room to read.

Despite frigid temperatures, the corner of the market where Ozawa worked stank of the few types of fish guts even the Japanese will not eat.

Near the alley entrance, the offal awaited. Ozawa glanced at a wall clock and counted the remaining gray plastic tubs, each lined with a white trash bag. His job was to tie the bags shut when they were full, then take them out to the dumpsters. He counted the tubs he still needed to empty. Only four more! He lifted a heavy bag and approached the swinging door that backed onto the alley.

The bag of guts made a satisfying squelch, hitting home in the big dumpster. One down, three to go.

That's when the man edged out from behind that very same dumpster. Ozawa stopped, puzzled.

A foreigner, this guy, to be sure, and wearing sunglasses at night. Ozawa tensed. He was no boxer yet, and wanted nothing to do with some thug looking to steal fish or cash or equipment.

The stranger was strongly built with a broad jaw. Long brown hair was scraped back from a rather low, narrow forehead, and caught in a tail. He looked like a tough customer, for all that he was a bit shorter than Ozawa.

The stranger reached for his sunglasses. Ozawa felt his heart thump, like this man was reaching for a gun. But the eyes behind the dark glasses held glints of intelligence, and when he spoke, it was in perfect, polite Japanese.

"If you have a little time and could use some extra money," ventured the stranger, "I've got a job for you."

"What sort of job?" Ozawa wanted to know.

"Not too difficult." The man's eyes flicked from Ozawa to the open door to the back of the fish market. "Hauling crates."

Ozawa stood for a time, considering. He'd had this job only a few days, and it would be tough making rent.

The foreigner gave Ozawa a glimpse of wadded cash.

_Don't go_, said a pale whisper from somewhere near the back of Ozawa's mind, almost a sense of _deja vu_. He balanced that warning against the struggle of rent. At last he nodded. "I'm off in about ten minutes."

The stranger grinned. "I'll be waiting."

0-0-0-0-0

The office of the warehouse was empty of both oni and human for the moment. Greatly daring, the little gray jaki with his broken nose crept forward, rufous tuft of hair trembling and tail lashing like an agitated squirrel's. He took a moment to sniff at the locked steel cabinet that concealed, among other things, a suitcase filled with plastic explosives.

The nice lady who fed him had said to come and tell her things. Would this be a thing to tell her? Would she feed him in return?

From outside the office came a noise, followed by the unmistakable flash of demonic aura. The little jaki fled, all thoughts of a free lunch forgotten.

0-0-0-0-0

The Two-Hearts bush is the most toxic plant in Makai, and that is saying a lot.

Every part of this plant is poisonous in some way, from the roots right up to the leaves. Extremely rare and valuable, Two-Hearts grows in only a single remote habitat. And it gets its curious name from the fact that even if you have an extra heart (a redundancy in the circulatory system not unheard of among demonkind), its poison will stop them both.

Interestingly enough, each part of the Two-Hearts plant contains a different poison, starting with cyanide for the roots (and not all cyanide compounds are deadly, but this one certainly is!), progressing to atropine for the branches, right on up to something far worse than arsenic for the leaves.

In humans or weaker _youkai_, even sitting close to the Two-Hearts bush can cause convulsions. A single leaf falling upon the skin will cause instantaneous death.

There is no antidote. Zero, zip, nada, none.

Now when you mixed all those different compounds together, then you really had yourself something. Something you could sprinkle into any sort of liquid---it's soluble in water, oil, alcohol, you name it, all-purpose toxin to the stars---yet still soak a plain old rosebud in the resulting liquid, and once dry, the bud absorbs the poison so anyone could touch it.

Roses were like that.

But if anyone tried to, oh, say, 'convert' the rose, or so much as pricked a finger on its thorns---

Look. See? Here is the rosebud in his hand, having soaked and dried in a bud vase containing a mere three grains of Two-Hearts. And here is the teaspoon of water that contained the last of the Two-Hearts poison, shaken into a tall, cool glass of Kirin's finest that Carlos was most certainly not to touch.

And how did he know such things? How was it that he could touch such deadly toxin unaffected? It all came from sitting under that virulent plant every day, starting from childhood. It hurt, but so did all of life. And every day he could sit among the creeping poison for a bit longer. It burned, but what was a little fire to a demon? And that was how he had developed his immunity to the deadliest poison Makai has ever known.

All this the Boss explained calmly to Carlos, as Ozawa Hideo shifted packing crates from one wall to another.

The oni, hidden inside certain crates Ozawa was not directed to move, presumably passed their time in respectful silence.

Moving the other crates was an exercise in futility, Carlos knew, because they were empty.

One day previous, The Boss had instructed Carlos to find Ozawa. Carlos had set every jaki they had on the job, and by nightfall the quarry was theirs.

Ozawa had not seemed to recognize Carlos. Was he playing a game, or had the fire-haired Spellcaster worked some evil magic?

Carlos could see where the crate-rearrangement was going, even if Ozawa could not. His mouth dry, the Brazilian expat waited in the office eyeing the deadly glass, the Boss holding the rose much too close for comfort.

Carlos lifted his gaze from the glass of beer to the Boss, careful to keep his thoughts shuttered.

"It's time," said the Boss.

There was a knock on the office door. Ozawa Hideo entered, tired and sweaty and unaware. "I'm done." His wheezing, urgent voice fell flat as he glanced from Carlos to the Boss.

The Boss had dressed for the occasion in a pair of heavy leather gloves that concealed his claws. And with his third eye hidden behind a black headband, he looked almost human.

Two jaki watched the drama, well-hidden among cardboard boxes atop the locked steel cabinet in back of the desk.

On the desk, the glass of Kirin waited.

The Boss nodded to Carlos, who handed Ozawa the money. Ozawa pocketed the cash, then gazed longingly at the tall glass, with its enticing glaze of frost. He licked his lips. Moving crates was thirsty work.

The Boss chuckled in what passed for sympathy and kindness. "Looks like you could use some," he said. "Help yourself."

For a moment, Carlos willed the unsuspecting youth to refuse, to say he was a teetotaler. But it was really none of his business. None at all.

"Thanks." Wiping his sweaty brow, Ozawa Hideo gladly accepted the beer, and lifted the glass to his lips.

All it needed was for the glass to touch his flesh. Uttering a single gasp, Ozawa stiffened. His eyes rolled up until only the whites showed. His skin flushed an impossible bright pink. The glass slipped from his hands, but the Boss caught it before it could smash to the floor.

Ozawa Hideo, late of the Boss' crew, late of the world's largest fish market, and now experimental animal, smashed to the floor all by himself, dead before he hit the boards.

The sound made an echoing crash in Carlos' ears. Then a dusty silence reigned.

"Good." The Boss grinned in satisfaction. "Wasn't sure the stuff was still potent."

Summoning the dun-brown jaki, the Boss let it hop to his shoulder. It curled its naked rat's tail in a gesture of distaste as the Boss extended the rosebud. "Here's your part of the deal," he ordered. "Deliver it tonight."

Its eyes rolling in fear, the dun-brown jaki took the rosebud in one trembling hand.

"Don't let the thorns stick ya," added the Boss. The jaki hissed out a breath.

"And don't eat it," Carlos said, unnecessarily.

The dun-brown jaki darted away, and its steel-gray companion, horned and maned like a miniature oni, leapt down from the cabinet. It was bigger than the first jaki, bolder.

"Ya know yer part?" the Boss inquired.

"Yeah." It too, sprang away, making the office seem devoid of life altogether. And then the Boss turned a surprisingly childlike grin on Carlos. "Cute, ain't they?"

Carlos forced himself to agree.

The Boss poked at Ozawa's corpse with the toe of his left boot. "His sweat'll be poison by now," mused the demon lord. "Wonder how t'get rid of him."

Thinking quickly, Carlos suggested rubber gloves to protect the redshirts, then having them roll the body into a heavy plastic trash bag.

The Boss shook his head. "Get me one of them bags."

Carlos hesitated, fearful he would be asked to dispose of the body, and die from the touch. Perhaps, because Olive and Ozawa had failed, the Boss had no use for him either. But he reached down a bag from the top of the metal supply closet.

The Boss laughed. "Kinda jittery, ain'cha? Relax. Just drop it an' stand back." When Carlos had done so the Boss toed the bag open and hefted Ozawa's body onto his shoulder.

It was the first time Carlos had ever seen him perform a menial task.

"How is it you are able to---"

"Touch the poisoned guy without dyin'?" Dumping the corpse unceremoniously into the garbage bag, the Boss poured in the beer, then dropped the glass after it and tied the bag shut. "Immunity. Or wasn't you listenin' before?"

Carlos hastily assured him he had paid rapt attention.

"Dunno whether it's 'cause I got myself used to Two-Hearts or it's just my nature." The Boss crouched, heaved the laden bag to his shoulder, and stumped out the side entrance.

Carlos hurried after him, casting nervous glances all around, but the docks were free of curious onlookers.

The fairly-human-looking demon pitched the body bag into the water. It landed with a resounding splash, then sank.

Several dead fish floated to the surface. The Boss watched for a moment in evident satisfaction, then went back inside Warehouse Number Four.

"Now," said the Boss, settling back behind the desk, "we get t'see what happens when a certain someone uses that rose."

Carlos had no need to ask who was the recipient of the poisoned rose. But he couldn't stop the corollary question from springing to his lips. "How will you get him to use it at all?"

"Ah!" The Boss grinned up at Carlos. From the warehouse floor came the sound of shifting crates and muffled _oni_ voices.

"Now, see," continued the demon lord, "that's where yer action at a distance comes in handy. Besides, this stupid cloth's drivin' me nuts." He peeled off the headband, revealing his vertical black Jagan.

0-0-0-0-0

A warm April night needed no coat; a trip to the corner grocery needed no sword, even after dark.

Or so Hiei assumed.

Brooding over what Shiori had proposed yesterday, he neither saw nor sensed his watcher until it spoke.

"Hey, pal, up here."

Scarcely half a block from home, the needling voice made Hiei stop dead in his tracks.

A dark gray jaki, horned and maned, sat taunting him from a low branch of a tree.

Gray like the one named as an accomplice in kidnaping and murder.

"Gonna sing for your supper?" it sniggered, the malicious glint of its yellow eyes like knife-points in the dark.

A muscle twitched in Hiei's jaw.

"Or maybe dance till they toss yen at you?" It spun on the branch in a mockery of movement.

Not much foot traffic on this quiet street, Hiei realized. _Stall it. Capture it_. "And what brings you and your two brain cells out from the dumpsters on a night like this?"

"Hey." It gave a very human shrug. "I'm a big fan. You rose fast, fell faster."

"Gravity will do that."

"When was the last time you had a job?"

"Performed a little flash and burn a couple days ago."

"That didn't pay much. You sure you can afford groceries?"

"Kind of you to wonder."

"Seriously, a guy's gotta feed his family."

"Thanks for the offer, but you're too scrawny."

"I mean it. Your woman needs a good meal. She's getting a little sharp around the edges." It slewed its wicked yellow gaze at him. "Especially when she's wet from the shower." Licking its lips, it darted away.

As Hiei tracked the flicker of its movements, the coiled spring of rage he had long kept in check ticked over, loosed a hot flood of adrenalin into his gut, demanded satisfaction.

Burning was a clean death, far too good for the likes of that scum. _Backhand it into next week, smash the leer from its face._ His eyes on the small enemy, Hiei took off in deadly pursuit.

(To be continued: At the end of a whip lies doom)

-30-


	34. FS C33: Flaying The Dragon

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C33: Flaying The Dragon

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Hiei pursues an enemy straight into a trap.

A poison that has no antidote.

Firebird Sweet C33: Hell Week (Flaying the Dragon, part three)

by

Kenshin

The steel-gray jaki just signed its own death warrant, Hiei vowed, hammering over rooftops in pursuit of his quarry. _How does slow and painful work for you?_

The accursed thing was leading him toward the Minamino residence. A feral grin stretched Hiei's lips. _Rock. Hard Place_.

It glanced back, stuck out its tongue, and darted inside Kurama's open window. Following, Hiei plunged into the darkened room, saw Kurama hunched on the bed. _Gotcha_, he thought.

The only warning was the faint hiss of air that heralded Kurama's Rose Whip.

No battle cry, no announcing the attack. The Whip simply lashed not toward the jaki, but at Hiei, who flung up his left arm as a shield. The whip found his Dragon arm instead, coiled and bit like a serpent, and yanked him to the floor.

Shock. Bewilderment. Rage.

This was no exuberant lakeside accident, courtesy of a boy rejoicing in his newly-regained powers. And Kurama would not make such a mistake twice. This was deliberate.

Laughing, the jaki flew back out the open window.

Thorns tightened their grip, sent spirals of flame into his nerves, the Dragon's pain an echo of his own tearing flesh.

Only one way to fight a whip, and it was Kurama himself who had taught him. Run straight onto it no matter the cost. _Now!_

Hiei sprang for the bed, knocked Kurama flat, straddled his chest. The Whip's bite deepened.

Even in the dim light, rage loosed by the jaki, walking a knife-edge between killing and mercy, Hiei could see there was something wrong with Kurama. Something in his eyes.

With a flare of ki, Hiei burnt the whip to ashes, then reached for the boy's throat.

Kurama struggled in silence, his eyes wide and flat and hazed over. Something---not the jaki---had control of him now.

Hiei's fingers dug into the nerve bundle at the junction of Kurama's neck and shoulder. The boy labored to fling him off, bringing up a wicked knee to Hiei's spine, clawing at his face in the dark, but slowly Kurama's struggles weakened; the boy went limp; Hiei let go.

Reaching to feel Kurama's pulse proved difficult. Hiei had known the Rose Whip's sting before, on accident or in sparring. No ordinary laceration could ingite such fire in Hiei's wounds, fire sheathed in ice---and it was spreading.

Pulse okay. Kurama's hand burnt, not seriously. Certain now the boy was merely unconscious, Hiei stumbled off the bed. His legs were shaking. Sweat beaded his neck and back, bitter-smelling, abnormal. His immolation of the Whip had temporarily staunched the flow of blood. Now it started again.

The door opened. The light snapped on, hurting his eyes. Shiori, black hair framing her sleepy face, muffled in a robe.

"Shiori," Hiei began.

"Oh? Not Kaasan?" Her lips and eyebrows quirked up. "Aren't we the formal one tonight, Hi-chan. What's---"

Shiori glanced at the blood soaking through his Dragon ward. Her mouth opened; she gave a cry of dismay. "You're hurt!"

"He didn't mean it," Hiei mumbled.

"What are you---" Shiori's gaze flicked to her son, lying boneless on the bed. She ran to him. "Shuuichi! What happened?"

"Not his fault," repeated Hiei, stupidly.

She looked from Hiei to Kurama, then fell silent. Hiei's teeth were chattering now. The cold went bone-deep, but it only served to amplify the pain of his lacerated Dragon arm. "Had to clock him. He'll b-be fine. B-better get ice for his hand---"

"Hiei, what are you trying to say?"

"Ice p-pack," he urged. "Hurry." His throat constricted, desert-dry and swollen. Bells tolled in his ears.

Shiori whirled and vanished out the door. Her footsteps pattered down the stairs. The sounds seemed curiously distant. With his good hand Hiei groped for the edge of Kurama's desk.

He was shaking in earnest when she returned, like a rat in the jaws of a dog, but no dog was doing the shaking. This was the work of a far more dangerous element.

Shiori moved quickly, wrapping an ice-pack around Kurama's hand, checking his breathing. She covered him with a blanket.

While she worked, Hiei ransacked his knowledge of Makai poisons---no human toxin could have this effect on him---and was not cheered by his conclusions.

The fire and ice in his veins, the thundering heartbeat, the overwhelming thirst, the buckets of acrid sweat, the shaking. Only a true master could have welded such a poison agent to the rose. Though Hiei had burnt the evidence, he had no doubt that this was the work of the Two-Hearts bush.

_Neuotoxic: destroys central nervous system. Hemolytic: blood-damaging. Breaks down function of internal organs_.

Even Kuwabara would leap to the same conclusion.

Finished tending Kurama, Shiori studied Hiei, eyes wide. "My son attacked you? Why?"

It had been too easy by far to subdue the tough and powerful Kurama, and again, even Kuwabara would reach the same conclusion. "K-kidnaping. B-break-in. Enemy."

Switchblade-quick, the look in Shiori's eyes changed.

Pain tore up his lacerated Dragon arm. The room spun. He shut his eyes. That made it worse.

"P-poison." Hiei flung out his uninjured arm to restore his balance, failed.

A chair nudged the back of his legs. He collapsed onto it. Kaasan was on him now, dabbing his blood and sweat with a towel. "No!" He twisted away, terrified for her safety. His very sweat would carry the essence of Two-Hearts. "P-poison---!"

She darted from the room. A drumbeat pounded in Hiei's ears as he tried to fire up his own healing ki, but the ice in the Two-Hearts poison smothered his power. The complex molecular shape of the toxin bound itself tightly to blood cells and could not be dislodged by any internal method. That was one element that made Two-Hearts so deadly.

The other was that no antidote existed.

_I may be dying_, Hiei thought, _but damn me for a coward if I take Shiori with me_!

When Shiori returned she wore surgical gloves and carried a lined pail and several large blue towels. Setting them down next to the chair, she immediately went to work, dabbing.

"Your t-t-owels, K-kaasan, d-don't---"

"Hush!" Soaking up blood and sweat, Shiori dropped the used towels into the pail. "Is a towel worth more than your life? Now. Tell me what to do."

Hiei had to clench his jaws to stop his teeth ratcheting. "K-kuwabara ..." He dug his fingers into the chair. "T-tell him ... c-call p-p-riest..."

Shiori dialed hurriedly. "And a doctor."

"No! I'm a d-demon... c-can't..."

As Kaasan spoke into the phone, Hiei thought ruefully, _My true 'doctor' is unconscious. Because I clocked him. No one else to blame if you die_.

0-0-0-0-0

"Mission accomplished." Darting through trees, the steel-gray jaki led the way back to Warehouse Four. "Time to report."

But the dun-brown jaki lagged behind, and soon the bigger creature was lost to his sight.

0-0-0-0-0

The Dragon was changing. It was sluggish, cold, aching from a bone-deep surfeit of fire and ice. And the poison was spreading to Hiei's right shoulder. Too close. Only one heart.

Kurama's breathing from the bed, slow, even, and deep, told Hiei the _kitsune_ would not wake in time to save him.

_No. I will NOT allow myself to die like this!_

Somewhere, a great distance away, people were coming upstairs. Then a rough hand clapped his shoulder. The hand was gloved. Hiei would have applauded: Shiori was not only quick, but brilliant. A familiar lilt spoke English close to his ear: "Sure an' it's all right, son. I'm here."

"F-father B-brian!" Now the least of Hiei's problems seemed having to translate between Father Brian's mangled Japanese, and Shiori's shaky grasp of English.

The rugged little pit-bull of a priest moved to stand in front of Hiei. His dangerous black eyes narrowed in assessment. A glow, very faint, emanated from his left pocket, a glow Shiori and even Father Brian himself could not detect.

"Holy Water." Hiei had traded trembling for a sense of watching life through the wrong end of a spyglass. He was uncertain what language left his lips. "Last rites. Please."

"Relax. You're too tough to die." The vivid snap in Father's eyes was a welcome sight, even if it did have to come from such a great distance to reach Hiei. "So you're 'Hi-chan' to the kind Missus, are you? Could never get away with such meself. Rip me in two, you would. Now, let's take off that ward thing of yours so I can get to work."

"The gauntlet's embedded in your wounds." Shiori shook her head. "I'd better get a pair of scissors."

"Scissors can't c-cut this. And you c-can't touch." Hiei worked the fingers of his uninjured hand beneath the upper edge of the gauntlet and steeled himself.

Shiori gasped in horror. "Hi-chan, no!"

He could not even give himself the spartan luxury of a quick removal; that might splatter blood. Instead, Hiei slowly peeled the gauntlet free of his injured arm. He bit down hard on a hiss of pain. Blood poured from both lip and arm. _Maybe that's good. Maybe excrete more poison. Or maybe that's bad---infect others. Can't tell. Everything mixed up_.

Shiori carefully blotted the fresh blood, then snapped off her gloves; she had worn more than one pair. _Smart lady_.

Father Brian patted Hiei's knee. "Ready, lad?"

Hiei nodded. Kaasan's gloved fingers pressed into his shoulders, where the flesh had not been torn, steadying him.

"Bet you didn't know this, you ignorant little pissant," said the priest, "but there's such a thing as Holy Salt as well as Holy Water. An' there's nothin' equals salt for drawing poison from a wound." Father Brian reached into a pocket, took out a round container with a shaker top. Then he brought out a tiny bottle with a spray head. There was no mistaking the fierce light that sprang from the Holy Water.

The priest took Hiei's arm and stretched it out. Knife-blades of pain shot all the way to his heart.

"Now." Father Brian crossed himself, then upended the salt shaker onto Hiei's shredded arm. "Try not to bite me."

Hiei snarled defiance as Holy Salt scorched his wounds, reached into every nerve ending, ravening, delighting in torment.

"Almost there," promised Father Brian.

"Stay strong, Hi-chan," urged Kaasan.

Hiei'ss firebird---the day they'd first met---he himself performing a similar task on her: pouring antitoxin into the poisoned wound caused by El Chupacabra's claws. How had she lived through it, a mere human female?

"Almost there," repeated Father Brian. "Just a bit of a rinse now." He held the bottle of Holy Water close to Hiei's arm and thumbed the spray head, anointing the injured area.

Heaven's fire exploded in his flesh. Hiei convulsed, his back arching, head jerking to the side, self-control in shreds.

And then just as Father had promised, it was over. A blissful numbness buttered his skin. He drew a breath.

Two teargems had fallen onto Kurama's desk. "K-keep the change," he stuttered.

"That's one for each of us, Mrs." said Father Brian.

Shiori's hand on his shoulder, still a comfort whether he wanted it or not. The blessed relief spread throughout Hiei's arm, nudging aside both fire and ice. He shut his eyes.

After a few minutes Father Brian cleaned Hiei's wounded arm and expertly applied bandages. Then the priest went to Kurama, checked the unconscious boy's breathing.

Hiei watched, but there was still that stupid spyglass between him and the rest of the world. "Better get home." He struggled to rise.

"No, Hi-chan, you're in no shape to leave just yet." Kaasan pushed him firmly back into the chair.

"If I can stand, I can get home," Hiei insisted. Levering himself from the chair, he stood for a moment, finding his balance. "See? I'm fine."

The room spun. Hands caught at him, but he slipped away, crashed to the floor. A thick black cloak drifted over him, covering him with an oblivion of velvet dark.

0-0-0-0-0

Shayla Kidd walked the floor with one twin, then the other, while Kuwabara and Shizuru hovered over her.

"He'll be okay." Kuwabara placed a paw on her shoulder.

"You know how tough Hiei is," added Shizuru.

She nodded, but thought of jaki sent to spy on them, two men who kidnaped her, the murderous pair that invaded the house.

Most of all, accompanied by a painful flutter of her heart, she was thinking of a fire demon, going cold, his ki fading from her perceptions.

0-0-0-0-0

Remembering the false report he had given outside Mercy Hospital, remembering the man with the big nose and how the Boss had disposed of him, the dun-brown jaki wondered whether there was any place in heaven or hell deep enough to shelter him now. After a moment's hesitation he hurried back the way he came.

0-0-0-0-0

There was a light poking his eyes open. It hurt.

"Good; you're awake. Can you speak?"

Somewhere in the dim fog of his mind, Hiei sought to tell Kurama to get off his chest. Except the stupid _kitsune_ wasn't sitting on his chest. "Mnf."

Kurama's breathy contralto came filtered through that spyglass, hard and cold to Hiei's ears as the boy spoke first English, then Japanese, for the benefit of the others. His face was a white pinpoint at the end of a dark, ominous tunnel. It took a great deal of effort to form words: "Too far 'way."

"Kaasan, if you could just lift his head?"

She replied: "Shouldn't we get him into bed?"

"It won't harm him to stay on the floor," Kurama murmured. "Hiei, open your mouth."

The people in the room were actors in a television play. Hiei was watching them in his sleep.

"Hiei! Open."

The sense of someone kneeling next to Kurama, also far away. "Come on, you arrogant little bastard. Let the nice demon boy give you your medicine." Kurama was trickling drops of vile-tasting ichor down Hiei's throat, making him gag. "Just a tonic," Father Brian assured him.

"At least let me put a blanket on him," said Kaasan.

"Good idea," said Kurama. "Right now he's using all his internal resources just to stay alive."

Hiei felt the velvet touch of a coverlet drift over him. This time, instead of black oblivion, a delicious warmth spread throughout his body. "Mnf," he said, by way of thanks.

Someone's gloved hand pressed into his wrist, counting the pulse. Gloved fingers prised his eyelids apart; light flashed again, briefly, painfully, then cut out.

The voices were moving closer.

"It looks like he's going to make it," sighed Kurama.

"Thanks be to God," added the priest.

0-0-0-0-0

It had taken two full revolutions of the clock, but after those two hours Hiei could stand.

Well. Sit, at least. He was back in the chair, able to discern those surrounding him: Kurama, bent over his desk; Father Brian, murmuring into the phone, and Kaasan, standing by his side, running her hand through his hair. Hiei wanted to lean against her, wanted her to go on disarranging his hair.

Straightening away from her, Hiei struggled to his feet. "Have to get home. Shay-san. Kids."

"I'll take you." Kurama's voice sounded like chipped ice.

_Pissed at me_, Hiei thought. _Can't blame him_. "You stay and guard Shiori. Father Brian can see me home."

When they reached got there, Kuwabara was waiting outside. Too exhausted to protest or even feel annoyance, Hiei accepted help from the tall, powerful boy. Flanked by his priest and his team-mate, Hiei made his way inside step by wobbling step.

And then _she_ was in the living room, eyes round with anxiety.

"I'm fine," Hiei assured Shay-san.

Her gaze flicked to his bandaged arm. "What happened?"

Shrugging off Kuwabara's arm, Hiei stood unsteadily, feet braced wide apart, and they let him be, and then he was alone with her. "Kids?"

"Fine."

Shizuru was in the kitchen with Father Brian and Kuwabara. Hiei heard the murmur of their voices, did not glance their way. Somewhere in a dim corner of his mind lurked the desire for revenge, the need to mount an offensive against the enemy. Right now, her gaze held him whole.

"Come on." She jerked her head toward the couch, her voice remarkably steady. "You can use me for a pillow."

The floor rippled beneath him as they made their way to the couch. Stupid floor. "Okay," he agreed. "Five minutes."

0-0-0-0-0

When Hiei opened his eyes again, daylight streamed over the sofa and the sound of birds filtered through an open window.

He felt stiff and sore, as though someone had stuck a hose under his skin and pumped him full of stale air. His throat rasped. He was chilled. Probably after-effects of Two-Hearts, although as far as he knew, no one had survived to report any.

His head rested on Shay-san's lap. Because his neck ached, he swiveled his entire body to look up at her. "_Ohayou_."

"_Ohayou_, Three-eyes." She yawned, covering her mouth.

"You stayed with me? All night?"

"I was trapped. That's my story and I'm sticking by it."

"Thanks." He flexed his wounded arm.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not at all." It was true. And that worried him. He tried making light of things for her benefit, levered himself off her lap. With a little sigh of relief, she stretched her legs.

Then he saw the small wet spot marring her skirt halfway down one thigh. "I was _drooling_ on you?"

"Like a world-class lapdog. And anyway your kids do worse every single day of my life."

"Sure they're okay---Michael and CeeCee?"

"Better than the both of us put together."

"But if you stayed here all night, who fed them?"

"Shizuru brought them when it was time. And Kazu-chan---"

"So everybody saw."

"And unanimously elected you All-Japan Champion Droolist. "

They were sitting side by side now. He put a hand under her chin, studying her face. Dark thumbprints marked the hollows of her eyes. His index finger skimmed her cheek. "Get some rest."

"Your bandages need changing."

"The moron can do it. Take a shower, maybe a nap."

She hesitated.

"I'm fine," he assured her. It was not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth. Hiei watched her go upstairs. What he had to do now was not something he wanted Shay-san to see.

Kuwabara came into the room. "Hey, Shorty."

"Hey, Moron." Hiei stretched his neck, winced.

"Nice present the fox-boy gave you."

"Wasn't his fault."

"He's stopping by later to see if you're still alive."

Shizuru appeared with a first-aid kit. "Look who's back from the dead," she greeted him, the everpresent cigarette bobbing from the corner of her mouth. "I hope you haven't been bleeding all over the couch."

Brother and sister flanked him, as if he might otherwise try to escape. Hiei held his arm steady while they cut, pulled, and tugged at the old bandages. He watched Shizuru's cigarette smoke rise in the air like a lazy dragon.

Lazy dragon. Only one way to find out.

"Shizu-san," he said.

"Sorry," she murmured, glancing up. "Did that hurt?"

Hiei shook his head. "Your cigarette."

"Oh!" She plucked it from her lips. "I'll put it out."

"No," said Hiei. "The smoke doesn't bother me."

She lifted a quizzical brow.

"I do want you to put it out---but in my arm."

"Hiei." Shizuru waited a beat, her eyes lidding strangely. "That's a little freaky, even for you."

Hiei turned his gaze up to Kuwabara. "Kazu-kun," he said.

And because Hiei never called him that, he took note. Reaching across Hiei, Kuwabara held out his hand. "Gimme the smoke, sis."

"Wait." Hiei turned his head away. "If I watch," he explained, "there's no point."

He fixed his gaze on the far wall. The sun was past its peak; the shadow of a branch danced and rippled on the wallpaper. Upstairs the shower ran. Cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils.

Then, a hiss of fire, a stink of burnt flesh.

He turned. Kuwabara was staring at a dot, seared by the cigarette, halfway down Hiei's Dragon arm. "Sorry, man."

"Didn't even feel it." Hiei looked past the burn, past the lace of healing cuts, down at the Dragon. Its eyes were closed.

"Uh-oh," said Shizuru, frowning. "You didn't feel that?"

Hiei shook his head.

"Damn." Quickly she finished bandaging the arm, then rose to safely dispose of the gloves and bloodied dressings, leaving Hiei with Kuwabara.

Hiei opened and closed his fist. "No reason to think the Dragon is gone forever." He could control the hand, move the arm at the shoulder, at the elbow. "Kurama's power came back."

"Hiei," Kuwabara began.

"Speaking of Kurama I suppose he'll want a look at this."

"You gained a lot of control over the Dragon. Since we returned from America, I mean."

"Even before."

"Yeah. That's what got me thinking."

"I'll mark the date on my calendar."

Kuwabara's soft grunt of laughter gave way to a sharply-focused glance. "You can pinpoint its attacks. I saw it."

"I was there. Remember? Or is one thought per day your limit?"

"That's a lotta power, Shorty."

Upstairs, the shower turned off. Hiei's firebird would come back down soon. He was glad his wounded arm was covered. "I know you're seeing Yukina."

Kuwabara shrugged. "Never tried to hide it."

"You do realize she's older than you."

"I'm not as dumb as you seem to think, Runt."

Hiei's mouth was lined with desert sand. He longed to get up and get a drink, but lacked the strength. "I want Yukina out of here. Father Brian knows a safe place." Far too weary for a battle with the moron, even a battle of words, Hiei steeled himself anyway for the inevitable flood of protests.

The bigger boy folded his arms and sat back on the couch, gazing at the wall. For a while, only the sounds of distant traffic threaded through the room. Then he spoke. "I agree."

Hiei stared up at Kuwabara. "The world's just full of surprises today---not the least of which is I'm still alive."

(To be continued: What damage has been done?)

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review.

-30-


	35. FS C34: Pane of Glass

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C34: Pane of Glass

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The enemy is getting ready to strike again, but will Hiei be able to fight back?

A/N: As we edge toward the completion of FS (literally, the last week of action is about to take place), I find myself wondering what I'll do once it's over! As always, accompanying sketches are found on my LJ homepagey. Thanks for reading, and please review. Your comments make my day.

"Give him air!"

Firebird Sweet C34: Hell Week (Pane of Glass, part four)

by

Kenshin

The small gray oni, most intelligent of the dwindling group, had never been expressly forbidden to enter the Boss' office.

Nevertheless his movements seemed furtive as he slipped inside the office door, unlocked the steel cabinet where they stored the plastic explosives, and removed an object.

However, he removed not the briefcase filled with enough plastic to blow the docks straight to the South Pole, but held in his palm a metal device roughly the size and shape of a television remote. Taking it to the desk, he sat, sighing and shaking his head.

When the Chief rapped on the door, demanding his presence, the gray oni tossed the object in a desk drawer and hurried out.

0-0-0-0-0

A pane of glass had positioned itself between Hiei and the rest of the world.

That's what annoyed him most. This glazing of his senses, this lag between question and answer, between commands of his brain and response of his body, this having to stop and recall that only a couple of hours ago, Shizuru had put out a cigarette on his Dragon arm.

Never mind that every muscle felt scorched, or that light stabbed his eyes, or that Kurama was---

_Well. Still pissed, I guess_.

Kurama, seated in a chair across from Kuwabara, refused to catch Hiei's glance. But Shay-san kept one watchful, worried eye on Hiei, crouched over the twins' stroller as if to protect them with her very body. The ubiquitous tray of drinks and snacks lay untouched on the coffee table. Hiei didn't know about the others; the thought of food only nauseated him now.

Kurama's right hand was bandaged, but had not seemed to bother the fox-boy when he gave Hiei a rough, cursory exam.

"Yuusuke's late." Shay-san darted a glance at the door.

"He's runnin' between the Yukimura place and his apartment." Yawning like a hippo, Kuwabara stretched his arms.

Hiei shifted, trying to find a position that didn't set his nerves afire. "How do you know?"

The orange-haired boy shrugged. "It's what I'd do: protect the ones I care about most."

Kurama yanked another gauntlet from his backpack and flung it at Hiei. "Here. Though I don't quite see the need if your arm is already bandaged wrist to shoulder."

Hiei unwadded the fingerless glove, examining its workmanship. Kurama had fashioned the first one shortly following the Dark Tournament, using some sort of plant material that resembled silk, weaving in wards to bind the Dragon, and the result was far better than the old wraps Hiei had used.

But Kurama had a point.

Shay-san spoke for them all. "You're _sure_ that hand is okay, Kurama?"

"Fine." The leaf-green eyes flicked to Hiei. "Why wouldn't it be? Nothing but a simple burn. I have a salve to treat that, carefully and lovingly compounded from no less than three separate Makai plants. It's not as though I had been poisoned."

"C'mon, Kurama..." Glancing from the fox-boy to Hiei, Kuwabara switched course in mid-stream. "It's gonna be okay, though, right? You're feelin' okay, right, Shorty?"

Hiei kept his burning eyes on the _kitsune_.

Urameshi Yuusuke arrived a bit later, out of breath, and flung himself into what was supposed to be a strategy session.

Hiei listened to the others. He knew they had a point---it was imperative to find Carlos and this Boss demon, stop them.

But he couldn't make himself focus. His arm and hand were under his control, true, in that he could clench his fist, hold a bottle of water. Kurama had admonished him to drink as much water as he could stand, to quickly excrete any lingering toxins.

It was just that he couldn't _feel_ anything. He had to look at his arm to determine whether he was holding the bottle or had merely managed to wrap his fingers around empty air.

Urameshi raked both hands through his licorice hair. "Dammit, those bastards know our every move!" The boy's outburst brought Hiei's focus back to the group. "They turned Kurama into a weapon, took out one of the best fighters we got!" He clenched a fist. "Kurama, couldn't you have stopped it? I mean---"

Shay-san murmured in protest, echoed more forcefully by Kuwabara. Hiei thought he must have joined the Kurama's-not-to-blame chorus, but could not be sure.

Kurama managed a sliver of a smile, then got to his feet. "Excuse me." Threading his way to the dining room, he went out the patio door.

Without a word, Hiei followed.

0-0-0-0-0

It was a very strange feeling, Carlos thought, to discover he had taken on what should have been the Boss' sense of rage.

The dun-brown jaki, bearer of unhappy news, caught the brunt of Carlos' anger. Carlos scarcely noticed the oni sidling away from him, the jaki cowering, the water sprites huddling behind crates, until the Boss himself held up a hand for silence.

Then it occurred to Carlos that the creature on the Boss' hand, and not his anger, was the source of unease.

"Lay off the messenger," Boss admonished, then gave Carlos a black look. "Been on a diet? Looks like ya lost weight."

Carlos subsided. The jaki grabbed this opportunity to flee.

It was true that Carlos' appetite had been off lately. What of it? Everything in life was subject to change.

Take the Japanese Sparrow hawk that rested on the Boss' gloved hand, gray above, barred below. Only this morning she flew free. Now she was bound by will, turned into a weapon.

The weapon-become fluttered her wings, as if she longed to take off after the jaki. In spite of her small size---less than a foot in length---her beak meant business and her talons could rip you to shreds. She turned her fierce yellow glare on Carlos, making him personally responsible for her 'snack's' escape.

And the dwindling company of oni glanced at the rack of surveillance equipment, one monitor notably blank. The little ice maiden was not in her usual garden spot.

Still addressing Carlos, the Boss sighed. "Kickin' up a fuss over some minor setback," he said. "Ain't like you. Don't worry---it ain't over yet." He beamed at the hawk. "Guess it's gonna take a lady to kill a lady."

"But---" Carlos bit down on his automatic protest, considered the five assembled oni: Red and Purple, both big, silent and sullen; Ocher; the blue one; finally Little Gray, almost as jumpy as Carlos. Perhaps the gray was thinking the same thing: they could afford no more loss of personnel.

And was it even possible for the target to be killed---or was he like a cockroach, shaking off death no matter how many times you stepped on him?

As if reading Carlos' mind, the Boss made a sound of contempt, deep in his throat. "Target's been defyin' me way too long. Time for a face-to-face meetin'."

The little ice maiden. Carlos missed seeing her---she reminded him of his lost sister, Bebita.

_Face it. Bebita's dead, and the ice maiden will soon follow_. Moving in front of his employer so the demon could read his lips, he said, "I'll take care of it, Boss. Right away."

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei discovered he had left his water behind, which was probably a good thing; he lacked strength to lift it. Somewhat lagging after Kurama, he reached the tiny yard; daylight pounded his eyes in a wicked assault that left him dizzy.

He had to stop at the old picnic table, unable to walk as far as the heavy bag Kuwabara used to toughen up his punches.

But Kurama made a beeline for the bag. Setting himself before it, he slammed blow upon vicious blow against the painted face of Urameshi Yuusuke, snarled curses Hiei hadn't heard since he'd left the demon plane.

Hiei raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't realize you were that pissed at Yuusuke," he remarked.

Kurama belabored the bag. "I could have killed you!"

"But you didn't."

"Not for lack of trying. And I was meant to!" Kurama changed tactics to land a kick that almost knocked the bag from its moorings. "I'm not sure whether it was your own constitution that saved you, or the Holy Water."

"And Holy Salt. Let's not forget Holy Salt."

Turning, Kurama raked a hand through his hair. For a blurred moment Hiei wondered whether he should flinch, whether this was the launch of another poisoned Rose Whip.

But before he could react Kurama said, quietly, "Has anyone ever used you in this particular fashion?"

Hiei shook his head.

"Then shut up."

"Fine! I had no choice but to put you out when---"

"Idiot!" Whirling, Kurama leapt upon the practice bag, raining blow after blow, his words shooting out between gasps of effort. "I don't care about that. You---could----have---_died!_"

"I didn't."

"Then you're the first." Kurama launched a leaping kick Hiei hadn't seen him use previously, made a three-point landing, then rose to steady the bag. "No one survives Two-Hearts."

"Didn't even know you carried it in your arsenal."

"I don't!" Kurama's fist crashed into the heavy bag again. That's the point! I trashed most of my arsenal just now."

That big a shocker penetrated even the pane of glass surrounding Hiei. "Why?"

"Remember my video camera? Acquired to distract myself when I lost my powers? I discovered a liking and a knack for it. Left it running in my room last night. The lighting's poor and the image poorer but it shows a jaki---messing with my hair. For all I know that vermin had time to pollute my entire stock."

The sun seemed awfully bright for a late afternoon. Hiei's eyes didn't like the light much.

The pane of glass sitting between Hiei and Kurama bowed a bit, lost part of its clarity, as if someone had puffed dust all over it. Was it warm out in the yard? It must be, the way sweat was beading on his upper lip. For a moment or two Hiei could not remember the season.

_Oh, right. April, the cruelest month_.

Odd, the way Kurama seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, tilting against the practice bag. Odd the way the fox-boy's mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. Odd how he was reaching out a hand, how slow the movement seemed. Most odd, those stars gathering around him.

0-0-0-0-0

Wreathed in white, The Stranger gazed down at Hiei.

"My son," he whispered, "It's not yet time."

And with a deep breath, Hiei knew he had grasped the missing piece of the Stranger's puzzle. "Father?" Hiei pushed himself off the picnic table; pain and suffering fell from his shoulders like dust. "Father! I've been asleep, but now I'm awake."

The tall lean form drew closer, bathed by cool fires, hand outstretched, black hair billowing in the wind from the flames.

"You have to go back now," came the deep, silken voice. "You have to go back."

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss was sitting in the office, playing with the hawk when Carlos, light-headed from too little food and too much last-minute maneuvering, entered and took a breath.

"Chopper's in place," he reported, one eye on the fierce bird, whose claws had already been poison-tipped. "Operatives standing by."

"What is this, the friggin' army?" The Boss grinned up at him. "Relax. Take a break, get somethin' to eat."

Carlos could find nothing to say. His mouth tasting like an ancient footlocker, he wondered what it would feel like to go crazy altogether.

0-0-0-0-0

"Give him some air, please," insisted Kurama.

Murmuring, thick-tongued, Hiei opened his eyes at last. Kuwabara, Yuusuke and Shay-san crowded around, adding their own voices to the confusion, robbing the patient of breathing space.

"Stand back, please," repeated Kurama, louder this time. "Give him air."

Gradually, and under protest, the others withdrew. Kuwabara and Yuusuke hit the streets. Shay-san went upstairs.

Hiei looked terrible.

The fire demon appeared as though he had not merely paused at death's door, but wiped his feet on the mat and staggered most of the way inside.

Not only was Hiei's aura dangerously low, perhaps a mere 20 percent, but his color was pale and muddy; his expression one of dullness, confusion. Gone were the razor-sharp reflexes that guaranteed you took your life in your hands if you startled him.

"Kurama?" Hiei sounded half-asleep, the words slurred.

"You went out like a light, right on the picnic table. Nearly fell off it, too. Lucky I'm still fast on my feet."

In truth, Hiei's collapse had alarmed Kurama no end, the way he fell rag-doll limp, yet with eyes open and pupils dilated. For long anxious minutes Hiei had remained like that, resisting Kurama's attempts to revive him.

_Yuusuke's right. I've been turned into a weapon. It could as easily been my mother who took the poisoned Whip_.

Kurama had lost friends and family before---as Youko, Kuronue pained his memory; as Shuuichi his father's death could still conjure grief. But if Hiei had died, Kurama would have been responsible. And it could happen again.

"Kurama." Hiei sighed. "Oh. It's you."

"I don't know who else it would be. Though you were muttering in your sleep to someone."

Hiei blinked, repeatedly, as if trying to work out what Kurama had just said. "Talking to someone? Who?"

"I couldn't discern that."

"Turn out the light." Hiei ran a hand through his hair, as though his very follicles ached. "Too bright in here."

"The light's not on," Kurama said, gently.

Hiei shut his eyes and sank back onto the couch.

Sitting in the gathering dark allowed Kurama much-needed time to think. It was indeed miraculous that Hiei had survived Two-Hearts. That might mean any number of things, from Hiei's core toughness, to the possibility that somehow, the poison was not fully activated.

Someone had planted a rose not of Kurama's own stock on him. Although he had no recall of the attack, that unknown someone ---and it was a safe bet this Carlos was involved---had meant for him to kill Hiei.

Kurama wondered whether his powers were still too raw to carry the poison into the rose, or he had resisted the command to kill. He wanted to believe he had fought the directive, not that he was merely too weak to carry it out.

One thing was certain---the enemy was a master of poisons, and there was only one place in Makai where Two-Hearts grew.

But Hiei was stirring again. "Mnf." Slowly, he levered himself to his feet, wobbling.

Kurama moved to the couch, easing him back down. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"To see my kids."

"You're not going anywhere. I'll get them."

Hiei gave a ghost of his former wicked grin. "And fetch the woman while you're at it."

In spite of himself, Kurama sputtered with laughter. "I'm t-telling!"

"Ch. Knock yourself out."

"Symptoms first, though. In detail."

It took Hiei a while to respond, but Kurama wrote them down: tongue furred and copper-tasting, overwhelming thirst and exhaustion, eye sockets feeling like they were lined with sawdust, always chilled, no sensation in the Dragon arm.

Kurama dug into his pack and handed Hiei a bottle.

"What's this?" Hiei squinted. Kurama bought the bottles by the dozen from a pharmaceutical supply house; holding four fluid ounces each and brown to prevent light from spoiling the contents, they somewhat resembled flasks of cheap rotgut whisky.

"Drink it. It'll restore your electrolyte balance."

Shrugging, Hiei unscrewed the bottle, and without question, drank, though it was unlabeled, clearly not of commercial make, and anything could have been in it, even more poison. "Not half as bad as the crap you fed me last night."

"Thanks." _He drank it_, Kurama thought, _because it was me who gave it to him_.

A small corner of his heart cracked. "I'll get the kids." He managed to keep his voice steady. At the base of the stairs--it really was dark---he flipped on a light switch.

"Mnf!" Hiei flung up an arm, protecting his eyes.

"Sorry. Light still hurts?"

Slitting his eyes, Hiei nodded. "Better note that. First-hand observations from the only survivor of Two-Hearts."

"I'll bring you a pair of sunglasses." Back at the stairs, Kurama snapped the light off and went up in the dark.

The bedroom door was open. Shay-san sat in the chair flipping through a magazine that was upside down, the twins at her feet. Kurama waited outside. "Hiei wants to see---"

"I heard." She pointed to the stroller. "Please. Give me a hand with the kids? They're heavy, and I'm tired."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure I'm tired."

"You know what I meant." This potential sister-in-law, who seemed more ashamed of her kind impulses than her Irish temper---did she share Yuusuke's understandable frustration?

She looked up, eyes wide and glittering. "The enemy didn't count on your strength. You fought him. If you hadn't, I'd be a widow." Going to the stroller, she made sure the twins were secure. Michael regarded Kurama steadily, while CeeCee held out her arms and squealed in delight.

"Hiei may not be the effusive sort," said Shay-san, "but he knows who's on his side, and he knows you saved him again."

Kurama gave her a smile of genuine affection. "Come on. Mr. Effusive wants to see 'the woman,' too." Carefully lifting the stroller, Kurama made his way downstairs.

0-0-0-0-0

In the pre-dawn hours, a human male and a small gray oni pulled up in a rented car across from the Kuwabara residence.

They left the car together: Azuma Ken with his bulging biceps bare, the oni small enough to pass for human in his trench coat, fedora low enough to hide the gray tint of his skin if you didn't look too close.

"In there." The oni inclined his head at the Kuwabara house. "Give it a minute for the Boss' Eye to work."

Azuma grunted. "What the hell for? It's just a damn string of beads, and the rest of 'em are just human."

"Shows how little you know. That Rosary has power."

"Oh yeah?" The human's eyes narrowed with predatory hunger. "I'll get it off him and take it as a souvenir."

"Don't even think it! No demon can lay hands on a Blessed Rosary, and no one knows why the target can. My orders are to take him, no others, and you are here for one thing and one thing only: to get his Rosary off. Besides, the carrot-topped kid can fight, and so can the girl."

Azuma Ken spat in the street, speaking his scorn for girls and kids who 'could fight.'

On the roof, the steel-gray jaki gave the final signal.

"It's time," said the oni, and they crossed the street.

0-0-0-0-0

The rhythmic needle-prick of cat's claws woke him.

Lying on the couch, under a blanket---though he did not recall falling asleep---Hiei had just enough strength to open his eyes and sigh, "Eikichi. Get off."

Kuwabara's favorite cat responded by purring like an outboard engine, redoubling his efforts to puncture Hiei's skin.

It was not yet light out. The dimness soothed Hiei's eyes. He wondered whether the cat was as witless as his master, or merely thought it fun to wake sleeping _youkai_.

_Feed me_, Eikichi m'rowed, in that unmistakable cat dialect.

"Eikichi," Hiei said, "How can I feed you if you refuse to get off me?"

In reply, the cat gave him a head-butt and settled onto Hiei's side. The cat's warmth was pleasant, the purring hypnotic. Hiei's eyes drifted shut again.

Out in the street came the soft sounds of footsteps.

Eikichi's purring cut off. Claws stabbed deep as the cat scrambled to his feet, uttered a low snarl, then spat.

Every hair on end, the cat launched himself off Hiei in a flurry of terror, then bolted from the room.

0-0-0-0-0

Last night, Kurama had brought the twins down to visit with Hiei, but the fire demon had melted back into sleep a mere half-hour later. _He'll recover_, Kurama told himself. _I did_.

Yet Kurama still felt tired and dispirited when the phone rang. "I'll get it," he called down to Kaasan, hoping against hope that this was a wrong number.

It was Shay-san, her voice threaded tight with anxiety. "Is Hiei with you?"

"No." Kurama's gut gave a sickening elevator-plunge.

"He didn't take his Rosary."

"He didn't what?"

"Hiei's Rosary." She cleared her throat. "He never, ever removes it, not even to shower. Kuwabara's out looking, but---"

"Suppose you tell me the story so far."

Shay-san took a steadying breath. "When I woke up, Hiei was gone. His wallet is still on the coffee table, and the phone." She paused. "He didn't take his sword either. Sometimes he doesn't, if he goes to the park to work up an early sweat."

"Are you sure that's not the case?"

"I came downstairs at six."

Kurama glanced at the clock. It was now 10:15. _That long? And with Hiei in such poor condition---_ "All right. We'll search together. I'll call Yuusuke; wait for him to bring you and the kids." He didn't have to remind Shay-san it would be most unwise now for her to venture out alone.

-30-

(To be continued: Where is Hiei?)


	36. FS C35: The Dragon In The Cave

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C35: The Dragon In The Cave

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Still weak from the poison, Hiei faces a new crisis.

"I didn't think you would die so easily!"

Firebird Sweet C35: Hell Week (The Dragon In The Cave, part five)

by

Kenshin

With thousands of trees and many acres to choose from, Yoyougi Kouen presented an irresistible target for city-dwellers. On a spring day, it was likely to be crowded. But as the sun strove without success to burn a hole through the overcast sky, Kurama was relieved to note that people stayed away in droves.

Kuwabara still combed the city for Hiei, and Yuusuke had joined Kurama to search the park for the ailing fire demon.

Kurama half-wondered why they hadn't gotten a ransom note; surely Hiei hadn't vanished under his own steam, given his shaky condition.

He also hoped Kaasan would be all right at home with the twins, because a near-frantic Shay-san had insisted on accompanying Kurama. "I'm dressed," she assured him, flicking aside her short jacket to reveal a small-caliber Beretta Cheetah.

Kurama supposed the palm-sized black gun was a good idea, although more of a back-up than anything else, and possibly giving Shay-san a false sense of security. He, too, had armed himself: a fresh and untainted rosebud, along with a few select seeds and---other equipment.

Yuusuke, of course, was capable of handling himself, but the brooding silence in which he walked seemed worlds apart from his usual upbeat demeanor. Each passing minute raised concerns that Hiei was not in the park at all, but Kurama had an inside track.

They cut across a great swath of plush green lawn, scattered with sparsely populated paths and benches. Ahead by some 25 yards lay a cluster of scrubby ginkgo trees, dominated by one towering pine. And though Kurama sensed no _youki_ there, he could indeed sense his potential sister-in-law's anguish.

High above such human concerns, but not quite high enough to ride the thermals, hovered a small gray hawk. Maybe it would do the world a favor and, instead of its usual prey of sparrows, lunch on some unsuspecting jaki.

"I couldn't bear to drag Hiei off the couch last night." Shay-san glanced at the trees. "Maybe I should have stayed with him. Maybe none of this would have happened if I---"

"You did the right thing," Kurama assured her. "Without a decent night's rest, how can you help anyone?"

But she hurried ahead as if his words pained her, and Yuusuke turned to Kurama, his dark brows stitched with concern.

"Hiei used to be fond of sitting up there." Kurama aimed his voice at her retreating back, eyeing the evergreen spire stamped dark against the sky. When she did not slow down, Kurama loped toward the tree, Yuusuke on his heels, and soon closed the distance between them.

Shay-san craned her neck to peer into the pine's dense, resin-scented branches. "Hiei?"

No reply. Kurama had expected none. He laid his palm against the rough bark. No trace of ki, however faint.

The hawk, having no luck either, dipped, hunting prey.

"Hiei's a pretty tough customer." Yuusuke put out a hand, stopped just short of brushing Shay-san's shoulder.

"Is there any sense in looking through the entire park?" Her voice a taut silver wire strung with worry, she did not wait for a response, but sprinted toward open ground. "I'd better get back and stay with the kids."

But when Kurama would have followed, Yuusuke stopped him. "No Hiei?"

"None." Kurama kept his eyes on Shay-san in the distance.

"Don't like this," muttered Yuusuke.

"I assure you, I like it even less."

"You want me to keep feeding her all this chin-up crap or you want me to tell her the truth?"

Startled, Kurama turned his attention to Yuusuke. "And what truth would that be?" He flicked his gaze back to Shay-san. She had slowed to a walk, both hands thrust into her pockets.

"Hiei coulda wandered off somewhere to die."

"Yuusuke!"

But admittedly, Yuusuke had just given voice to Kurama's own fears. To speak them aloud seemed to tempt the fates, make it more real.

His gaze on the ground, Yuusuke muttered, "You're the one who keeps saying nobody survives Two-Hearts poison."

"And you're the one who always keeps a cheerful outlook! If Hiei was going to die he'd have done so instantly! Above all, I don't want to further panic Shay-san----"

What happened next occurred with such lightning speed that they had no time to react.

Shay-san screamed. Kurama lifted his head; Yuusuke spun.

The hawk had changed course. Folding its wings, it made a plummeting dive onto the girl.

0-0-0-0-0

It was the voices that woke him.

Someone with an odd accent Hiei couldn't place was saying, "You cover the Boss, got it?"

A deeper voice replied, "Got it."

The odor of flint strong in his nostrils, Hiei could not feel his katana at his back, nor the Rosary round his neck.

But he could feel jagged strata of rock press the side of his face, and pain that lit him head to toe.

There was also the lingering stench of old _youki_---and a stronger smell of fresh demons.

"And you two," the accented voice continued, "You're sure you got him?"

"We got him." The answer came in tandem, much closer to Hiei's ears. His arms tingled, as if asleep. When he tried to move them, wire bit both wrists, and Hiei discovered his arms had been bound behind his back.

That was never a good sign.

"Car's returning to the warehouse," continued the foreign voice. "Chopper's outside. I don't want any more screw-ups."

"Think he'll remember the ride?" The deeper voice, from approximately the same location as the accented one, held a distinct tinge of worry.

"Who cares if he does?" said a higher voice, close to Hiei's ears. "He ain't leavin' here alive."

"Watch it," cautioned the accent. "He's coming around."

Hiei pried one eye open---to a scene out of a monster movie.

He lay on his belly in a cave. A streak of milk-pale light splashed the floor, indicating that the mouth of the cave could not be far. Some fifteen feet in front of him, a blue oni pressed its back to the wall. A human male about the size of someone Hiei knew, but had forgotten, stood beside the oni.

The blue oni was reminiscent of Jorge Saotome, lacking Jorge's civilized demeanor. Jammed into the floor before it was a single smoking torch whose flickering orange light added only somewhat to the illumination.

Behind the human and the oni, a smaller figure was wreathed in shadow, as if light itself fled before it.

Hiei wondered if this was the same cave from which he had rousted the trio of raptor-type demons, a lifetime ago.

Someone was laughing, a low bubbling laugh like lava flowing from a volcano. "Get the little bastard to his feet."

A clawed hand snaked round Hiei's gauntlet wrist. Another circled his left, yanking back and up until Hiei's arms strained in their sockets. "Take your paws off me," he said, but no words managed to come out. _Irritating_.

With another painful heave, they hauled Hiei to his feet, but his legs gave out and he sank back to his knees.

"That's fine," snickered the higher voice, near his left. "You oughta be on your knees, meeting a king."

_King_, wondered Hiei, and swiveled his aching head. Two nearly-identical oni, distinguished only by color, held him captive. Even in the dim torchlight that reluctantly painted the cave, Hiei could distinguish the purple cast of the oni on his gauntlet arm from the red cast of the oni on his left. Both reminded Hiei of that mediocrity, Gouki---heavy-maned, horned, at least 7 feet of solid muscle.

This cave didn't resemble any palace Hiei had ever heard about, but it did mean he was close to---

Close to somewhere he knew. If only his brain would function. "How did I get here?"

The purple oni snapped, "Shut up, you."

The human seemed familiar, but Hiei's memory would not supply a name. Though the torch alternately chased and embraced shadow, playing illusion with the man's shape, it revealed he was once strongly built, and while starved hollows marked his cheeks, he was still big-boned. Brown hair scraped back into a cascading tail accentuated his broad jaw and narrow forehead. The human gave Hiei a troubled look. "Face the shadow!" he barked.

So. This was the owner of the oddly-accented voice. Clearly foreign, as were his features.

Grabbing Hiei by the hair, the purple oni forced him to look into the shadow. The crunch of boots on granite heralded an emerging figure.

"Bow to the King," demanded the red oni.

The personage they called 'King' was also heavy and powerful, though not much taller than Hiei. He strode forward on short, thick legs, with ham-hock arms ending in clawed hands. His barrel chest and midsection bulged over tight black pants. A sulfuric _youki_ surrounded him, an aura reeking of poison and decay.

He stopped, flicked a look at Hiei with black eyes---all three of them.

Two of his eyes were in the usual place. The vertical third eye, shining like polished obsidian, was in the same place Hiei had installed his Jagan. It was slitted, as if lazy or tired.

_Old Dragon_, Hiei immediately named him, though he did not know why. The entire scenario, with its eerie torchlight and primordial cave reeking of _youkai_, had the feeling of a dream.

Old Dragon spoke. "Been lookin' for me, ain't ya? Well, here I am."

Hiei blinked. "Who are you?"

"S'matter?" Old Dragon grinned, exposing fangs that were yellowed like ancient ivory. "Don'cha recognize yer father?"

0-0-0-0-0

Before Kurama could shout a warning, Shay-san dropped, rolled, and came up on one knee, firing. She snapped off shot after shot but the bird, with twin advantages of slim profile and moving-target speed, darted away unhurt.

Turning in mid-air, the hawk hammered down. Already on the run, Yuusuke at his side, Kurama felt like he was moving in slow motion, everything around him accelerating to light-speed.

The bird struck Shay-san's left arm, then soared back aloft.

_Now---while she's in the clear_, thought Kurama, dropping to slam a fist into the ground. His ki poured through the grass near Shay-san, shot three razor-sharp stalks skyward in pursuit of the bird. This was risky in itself; the blades could easily injure girl as well as hawk. And not only were there limits to what Kurama could attempt in front of witnesses, but his power was still not at a hundred percent.

The hawk juked, avoiding Kurama's attack. Rising, Kurama pressed toward the girl.

Dead shot though Shay-san might be, with a dancer's reflexes, the attacking hawk dodged her bullets. Kurama watched in horror as the hawk folded its wings, and dropped like a bomb.

Yuusuke bolted past him, shouting.

Hiei was gone; of that Kurama was now painfully certain. Never mind that he felt none of his friend's ki. With sinking heart, Kurama knew that if Hiei had sensed the attack, he would have risen from the dead to protect Shay-san.

Yuusuke cut the ground with enormous strides, but the hawk struck again, then darted out of range.

_It's going for her Dragon arm_, Kurama realized. _Damn it, the enemy---they tracked us here_!

Shay-san recoiled, her sleeve in bloodied shreds. Worse, the impact knocked the gun from her hands; it flew spinning sidewise, and landed beyond her reach.

0-0-0-0-0

_I'm your father_. That's what the demon had said.

"No." This could not be Hiei's father. The voice sounded far different from the tall, elegant Stranger's, and far different from Hiei's own: coarse and jagged, with an unpleasant rasp that spoke of coiling scales. The thick accent, grating to the ear, rang of the lowest Makai dialect.

Most people have no idea what their own voices sound like to others. Without being able to remember how or why, Hiei knew he had been obliged to listen to his voice over and over again. There were elements in it that made him cringe, but he knew he did not sound like _that_: not like the pudding-thick rumble emanating from the ungainly figure before him.

Neither did the blue-black hair look as it had the other times his father came to him. It was short and coarse, sticking out from the flat-browed head in every direction.

But there was no mistaking the white starburst, identical to Hiei's own, almost like a crown.

"You look different from before," mused Hiei.

"Different?" Old Dragon lifted an eyebrow.

"When you came and talked to me," Hiei explained. "You know, outside the..." He frowned, groping for images and words. "Outside the house. And those other times."

Old Dragon exchanged glances with his pet human. "What's he blabberin' about?"

The human shrugged. "He wasn't hit all that hard. Maybe it's still the poison."

_Poison_? Hiei looked on, struggling to grasp what this had to do with him.

"Maybe." The one they referred to as a King gave the human a shrewd glance. "Since he didn't up an' die, guess he inherited some of my resistance."

Hiei blinked. His gaze brushed that of the pet human; pressure rose in his throat. _I know you_, he thought.

The human looked away, but the demon's black glare pierced Hiei. "You! Y'took somethin' from me---somethin' that shoulda been mine. An' I'm gonna make you pay."

Hiei wondered what trinket he might have stolen from this creature, in his former occupation of thief. Had this demon been watching over him, the way Hiei himself watched over Yukina? "You were keeping an eye on me?"

"Three," laughed the red oni. The demon king gave it a snarl, then continued speaking. How he'd blown through the Makai barrier to track Hiei. How he'd monitored him.

All the while Hiei nodded, pretending to understand. This demon king claimed to be his father. So Hiei would listen as best he could, with his spinning head and cottony mouth and eyes still searing.

"That's right---watchin' over ya." Old Dragon licked his lips as though savoring carrion. "Over that fox-boy an' the punk kid an' the dummy an' the Russky. An' that Spellcaster. Who d'ya think's been playin' ya all this time?"

The demons in the cave chuckled. The human did not join in.

"Gave ya more chances 'n' you deserve. Cost me some good men, too. An' that fox-boy, he fought me. But now he's gonna pay. Yer all gonna pay. Who d'ya think snatched ya from yer own house? Who snuffed yer friends? Who gave the poisoned rose t'the fox-boy? Who stuck yer woman in that building?"

That last bit of narrative finally hit Hiei, like a bucket of cold water to the face. Penetrating his brain-fog, it allowed him to think again with pitiless clarity: _My firebird. That building. The explosion_.

"Playing around?" Hiei stared at Old Dragon. "Is that what you call it?"

The demon shrugged. "Hadda see what yer made of."

"I don't understand. You wanted me to stop you?"

Old Dragon chuckled. "Naah. Figured you might at least try, though. Figured I'd hafta up the ante some."

Hiei studied the demon claiming to be his father. He tried to rise, but Old Dragon's Jagan opened a bit, and a flare of power glued Hiei's knees to the ground.

_Ante?_ Frowning in concentration, Hiei raised one shoulder to try to scrub the haze from his eyes. "I don't understand what you want."

There was a change in Old Dragon's swaggering demeanor. The clawed hands opened and closed. "Your mother," he rumbled. "She shoulda been there, waitin' for me."

Hina? Did he mean Hina?

Kaasan was his mother now. She had said so. Did this demon mean to harm Kaasan? "I won't let you," Hiei whispered.

"Chief," wheedled the red oni, "Lemme make him speak up!"

_Chief!_ Hiei lifted his head. Another arc of memory jolted him as the human met his gaze, and again looked away.

The Boss Demon! Carlos---! The man behind his firebird's kidnaping, the man behind the murder of----

---of Hiei's friends. He could not recall their names.

Old Dragon spoke. "All this time y'been thumbin' yer nose at me. Gotta give ya points fer toughness, but that ain't gonna stop me. They're good as dead---everyone close t' ya."

So. This creature who identified himself as a father wanted to kill not only Hiei, but those he held dear. Hiei did not question the justice of the statement, nor try to talk the demon out of it. He accepted, as he always had with any situation, no matter how brutal.

But acceptance did not mean compliance. "I won't let you!" Not Yuusuke and Keiko and Kaasan. Not Kurama, Kuwabara, Yukina, his twins.

His firebird.

Hiei recognized his own capacity for violence. Indeed, killing was his job. He had sent countless enemies to meet their maker. He would do so again if need arose.

But to destroy one's own offspring---

He pictured CeeCee's laughing face, her arms perpetually held out to the world. Michael's quiet, thoughtful gray eyes. _Michael and Cecilia, flesh of my flesh. I can't let him! I can't! But..._

_His blood is in me_, Hiei thought, regarding the corrupt figure. _His poisoned blood. At birth, I burned, flesh of _his_ flesh. The sins of the fathers, visited upon the sons_.

Would he become like his father? Turn upon his own children? Hunt them down as though they were game animals, destroy that to which he had given life?

No. In the innermost chambers of his heart, where he bore his secret name, Hiei knew he would not. He would die first.

As Old Dragon had planned.

Hiei thought of Shay-san. What once seemed a chance meeting now seemed the unfolding of fate itself. _My firebird: she changed me. My idiot beloved. She thinks I don't listen. But I listen. And learn_.

"I don't see how you're going to accomplish any of this, my Lord Demon" Hiei told him. Lacing his voice with refinement, using the highest strata of honorific, was a slap to Old Dragon's face. "You've made a botch of it so far."

Old Dragon's eyes flashed. He jerked his head.

Still holding onto him, both red and purple oni drew back and simultaneously clocked Hiei. The floor spun beneath him. He collapsed, tasting his own blood. Their jeers rang against his skull like an iron bell, but with a convulsion of muscle and sinew, Hiei lurched to his feet. "I won't let you!"

Carlos drew near the demon; the 'King' spared him a single withering glance before returning his attention to Hiei. "How ya gonna stop me? My Jagan ain't no stupid implant, and it's ten times stronger 'n' yours."

Old Dragon's Jagan. Unlike Hiei's own violet eye: small, vertical, black as his heart. For a moment, it filled Hiei's vision, froze him, held him captive.

The purple oni threw back its head and roared in delight. It aimed a kick that caught Hiei under the chin and slammed him backward. Skipping like a pebble over water, Hiei crashed and tumbled against the granite cave floor.

0-0-0-0-0

The hawk's last attack had disarmed Shay-san, but despite her wounds she rose to scramble for her gun. As if on cue, the hawk folded its wings again.

Suddenly, Yuusuke was there, pushing her down, but on hands and knees, she kept rummaging for her gun, glancing over her shoulder at the hawk.

Kurama studied the bird as it hovered, its keen yellow gaze intent on the fallen girl.

Folding its wings, it plummeted.

The bird was fast, Yuusuke faster. He snapped up both hands; a white ball of Rei-energy gathered like a tiny star in the tip of his shooting finger.

The speed of its dive tore away the hawk's keening cry.

Shay-san dropped flat, groping frantically for the Beretta that lay just beyond the reach of her outstretched fingertips.

"Rei-gun!" Snarling out his attack, Yuusuke took aim.

"Yuusuke, no!" And before Yuusuke could make the shot, Kurama leapt, knocking the boy aside.

0-0-0-0-0

Easily twice Hiei's size, the purple oni hauled Hiei to his feet, backhanded him into the jagged wall.

Hiei felt bone crunch. A howl of pain tore across the cave.

But it did not come from Hiei. At the last second he had spun, managing to sink his fangs into the oni's leg; the force of its own blow doubled the damage.

_That_ wiped the grin off its face. The oni, a good chunk missing from its leg, lay cursing and bleeding.

Ignoring the feel of the cutting wire, ignoring pain, Hiei ripped free of his bonds, spat a mouthful of bone chips and gristle and wiped his face with the back of one hand. "Old Dragon! You prey on the weak---but Lermontov thwarted you! He gave his life to save Ibuki, and now she's out of your reach!"

Old Dragon's face contorted in rage.

The purple oni lumbered to its feet. The red snatched at Hiei, missed. Freezing from the aftereffects of Two-Hearts, bone-sick, nauseated, shaking, Hiei scorned the clamor in his physical body, and gathered himself for battle.

The purple oni charged. Dodging, Hiei hammered straight for Old Dragon.

"Bring it!" Old Dragon roared, his arms spread as if welcoming a lover.

"Get him out of here!" Carlos shouted. "I'll fire up the Robbie. Cover him! Go, go, go!" Then he bolted from the cave.

"Gotcha, Chief!" At Carlos' command, the purple oni left off its attack to guard the Boss. Both red and blue oni converged, grabbed him, tugged him toward the exit, but Old Dragon wanted to stay and fight.

_He wants a fight? He's got it_. Hiei sprang. The blue oni scooped up the torch, slammed it into Hiei head-on. The impact of iron-hard wood crunched against his jaw.

Stars exploded across his eyes. He tumbled away, the wall striking his back, knocking the breath from him. Somehow he gained his feet, dove for Old Dragon again.

"Lemme go!" Old Dragon struggled to free himself from the grip of the oni. "Think I can't handle a runt like him?"

But the oni were powerful and insistent. Getting the demon under control, they turned him, hauled him toward the exit.

Snarling, he wrenched free, spun back to face Hiei.

_Almost there_, Hiei promised. _Your throat. My hands_.

Changing course, Hiei took advantage of his speed and stature, zooming in low, scattering oni like bowling pins. He leapt for his quarry in one deadly arc.

A suspended moment, Hiei inches from victory, startled oni too far from Old Dragon to protect him.

There was a special corner of hell reserved for baby-killers, and Hiei would be happy to send Old Dragon there. _I won't let you hurt my family! I'll rip the Jagan from your skull first_!

Grinning, Old Dragon raised his head, as if he could read Hiei's mind and welcomed the challenge. The vertical lids of his Jagan slid apart, slow and obscene. His obsidian gaze opened, struck Hiei point-blank.

And then the black Jagan was beaming white light into him, filling his consciousness, crowding out thought, memory, revenge, conquering every inch of space, greedily seeking more, spreading a tidal wave of poison, ripping his skull with a cascade of agony that tasted like copper in the back of his throat.

Retching, he fought it, but his eyes rolled up in his head, and his muscles turned to water. With a final shiver, Hiei crashed over into darkness and cold.

From someplace far away came the thudding roar of helicopter blades. And the feathery brushstroke of wings against his cheek.

(To be continued: In the cave and in the park, who will survive?)

-30-


	37. FS C36: Death Of A Dragon

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C36: Death of a Dragon

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The enemy has fled, but the damage is done.

A/N: Here marks the end of our penultimate story arc, and I have mixed feelings about that. Up until now I've posted my updates weekly in a somewhat timely fashion, but with the exacting nature of the final chapters, it may proceed at the rate of once every two weeks. You can view the chapter's accompanying sketches up on my LJ homepagey. As always, thanks for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews.

"Will she live?"

Firebird Sweet C36: Hell Week (Death of a Dragon, part six)

by

Kenshin

"Y' didn't lemme finish the target." The Boss' statement was barely audible above the _thop-thop_ of the Robinson's revolving blades.

Heart pounding, fear staining the front of his shirt, Carlos snapped out a reply. "He's not going anywhere." Focused on selecting a landing spot from the tangle of forest, what Carlos really wanted to say was: You're damned lucky _you_ got away with your life.

Because the target moved faster than anyone Carlos had ever seen. Even poisoned, beaten, bludgeoned, pinned by the Boss' Jagan, and three-on-one---he had posed a genuine threat. No way in hell could Carlos hope to stand up to him, and if the target remembered, and came after the Boss---

But the Boss merely sounded peevish. "So we're gonna hide in the bushes like rats?"

None of this was helping Carlos settle into the abstract mood necessary to set the ship down among closely-spaced trees. Flying a Robbie was different from any of the ancient Hueys or WW II-vintage Sikorskys he'd flown in the past. Light and cat-quick, they were challenging, and came with dual controls.

The first thing Carlos had done was to disconnect the passenger-side foot pedals. Disconnecting the T-shaped cyclic, which allowed both passenger and pilot equal access to the controls, was next on his to-do list.

Carlos sent the machine down low, almost brushing the trees with his skids. His men had been instructed to slip toward the main road, then wait for the car to pick them up after dark. Now all that remained was to secure the Boss.

"Take me back to th' warehouse," the Boss demanded.

Carlos slid the Robbie's tail portside to avoid an intrusive tree. He did not trumpet such maneuvering skill, honed from years of 'dust-offs'---dropping a man close to the ground, yet without landing.

"Hey." The Boss gave him an elbow. "I know y'think I'm nuts, but I got my own way of doin' things."

"So do I!" Never before had Carlos dared address the Boss in such a manner. "And I know how things work in the human world! We're hiding from the law. That means I can't file a flight plan without leaving a hot trail, so we travel by night, blind." Carlos eased back on the stick. "And we can't hover indefinitely. Out in the middle of nowhere like this we'll be heard, and that old Reiki master can make trouble!"

The Boss lifted his lip. "Let 'er."

"She can blow away an entire army of tougher guys than all ours put together, with one hand tied behind her back! We don't have that many left, or weren't you counting?"

Sighting their spot, Carlos aligned the top of the rotors with the tree, easing the ship down until it touched ground.

Then he turned off the engine and sat, waiting for retaliation.

But the Boss only slanted an obsidian glance his way. "Good job," he said, then folded his arms, settled against the bubble, and shut his eyes.

Carlos eased his cramping hands off the stick and let out a deep breath. Again, they'd blown a chance to kill the target.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei opened his eyes.

Ringing in his head. Aching back and shoulders. Flinty odor of rock. Cottony mouth. He swallowed, caused a fit of racking coughs, tried to sit up.

Bad idea. _That_ sent his head spinning again. Stupid head. Lurching to one knee, ignoring the tilt of the stone floor, Hiei staggered to his feet and stood, uncertain.

What day was this? Moon or sun? Waking or dream? A pressing sense of anxiety about... about...

One steadying hand on the cave wall, Hiei wobbled outside.

0-0-0-0-0

The warehouse was all but deserted. There was only the bored ochre-yellow oni, and the water sprites, whose language the little broken-nosed jaki did not understand.

And the gray oni, seated in the Boss' office, staring at an object in his hand.

His scrutiny thus fixed, the gray oni did not see the jaki crouched among cardboard boxes atop the steel cabinet, but the jaki had an excellent view of the oni, and remained frozen in place as the gray oni slid the object back into the desk drawer.

The jaki thought furiously: if the gray oni was spending so much time on it, the device must be very, very important.

0-0-0-0-0

It was an agonizingly slow journey, and even the fading light of afternoon seared his eyes. Hiei barely had the strength to slide the screen aside and enter the temple.

Genkai sat watching a soap opera, the sound blaring. She held the inevitable cup of tea in both hands, a fresh pot steaming on the table before her.

"Water," he gasped, then crashed to his knees, his attempt at speech wrenching out coughs that tore at his lungs and threatened to crack his ribs.

Then, someone pressed a mug of tea into his shaking hands. Gulping it down, Hiei held it out wordlessly for more.

The simple act of swallowing tea made his head blaze with a bonfire of pain, but the tea----Funny. He had never before noticed how green tea tasted---like thin new grass. It revived him somewhat. After he downed the third refill, he was at last able to look up and regard his tough little benefactor.

Genkai raised an eyebrow. "You look like crap, kiddo. Just what sort of bender were you out on last night?"

Her words slid over him as he fumbled in his pocket. Had to call his firebird. She'd be worried.

His fingers curled around nothing. Phone was gone.

"Seriously." Genkai knelt, assessing him, the heavy sleepy gaze narrowed. "Did you meet up with a saber-toothed tiger?"

Genkai's phone rang.

She sighed. "Probably the mother of your mongrels, wondering where on earth you are."

_Good_, Hiei thought. _Talk to her. Reassure her_.

Leaving Hiei where he was, Genkai went to pick up the phone. She listened a moment, scowling, then barked out: "Wait, hold on! Slow down, Yuusuke. What happened?"

Beats of silence, while a knot of dread tightened Hiei's throat. He put the mug on the floor.

Genkai flicked him a glance, then lowered her voice. "When?"

Unable to breathe, Hiei gave every sense over to listening.

Genkai said, "I see." And turned her back to Hiei.

His hands clenched into fists.

"Where are you now? Minamino's? How bad---"

Hiei didn't wait to hear the rest. Head still reeling, he leapt to his feet, sprang out the open screen, and took flight.

0-0-0-0-0

With the sun slanting low in the mountains and the Boss asleep at his side, Carlos waited for dark. They needed a panel truck, like the one they'd rented to move to the warehouse. And the Robbie wasn't just for show. It could also be used as a weapon.

0-0-0-0-0

_I didn't protect her. I didn't protect her_.

Words repeated over and over like a mantra, as Hiei bulled his way into the city and through it, until he crash-landed on the Minamino doorstep. With his last strength, he raised a hand to slam a fist against the door, but before he touched it, the door opened. Shiori stood there, gasping at his appearance.

Hiei stumbled inside. "Kids," he managed. "Shay-san---"

"Michael and CeeCee are here, they're all right," she assured him. "Oh, Hi-chan! Your feet!"

He made a clumsy move to kick off his boots, then realized for the first time that he was in stocking feet. Not exactly---tattered scraps of knitware still clung to his torn flesh. "Shay-san," he repeated.

"They're with her, upstairs."

His stomach twisted painfully as Shiori handed him house slippers. With no memory of mounting the stairs, Hiei found himself in Kurama's room.

She was lying on Kurama's massage table. The room had been turned into a makeshift hospital ward, with Kuwabara and Yuusuke standing off to the side, their faces intent on the still form beneath a white sheet.

For a moment, the universe had no floor.

"She's alive," Kurama said, without looking up.

"Where the hell were you, Runt?" Kuwabara scored Hiei with a ferocious glare. "Had my buddies out lookin' for you, too. Where the hell---"

Yuusuke waved him quiet.

"Gun," moaned Shay-san, her face sickly-white.

"I got it," Yuusuke assured her, then to Hiei: "She's worried some kid might've picked it up and shot himself."

"I'm here," Hiei said. There were no other greetings; the words had been for her alone: his firebird, fallen. Fallen because of his failure.

Shay-san's Dragon arm bled freely; her chest spiked with shallow, labored breaths as she appeared to be fighting for air. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Kurama won't even let us touch her." Kuwabara jerked his head at the girl. "Doesn't want the poison gettin' us."

"Poison?" _Please, God, not Two-Hearts!_ Hiei's glance followed Yuusuke's, over to Kurama's desk. Resting on a stainless steel tray was an enormous yellow-green leaf wrapped around a solid form; Hiei could not tell what was under the leaf.

Yuusuke made a sudden move toward Shay-san. "If we could just transfer some ki---"

"Stay back," warned Kurama, working on her wounds with fierce, deft movements. "That's the bird that attacked her. Yuusuke was about to level it, but I stopped him."

"Bird?" Hiei narrowed his still-burning eyes at what was inside the leaf. "You saved it? Why?"

"If Yuusuke's Rei-gun had hit it, there would have been nothing left, no way of telling which antitoxin to use." Kurama lifted his head to meet Hiei's gaze at last. "She may have been injured on my watch, but she's not going to die."

Hiei's legs went out from under him. Yuusuke caught him by the arms, but he straightened, pushed away.

"After seeing how effective Holy Water and Holy Salt were against Two-Hearts," Kurama went on, "I asked Father Brian for a supply. I was carrying some when the creature struck, and I think that's what saved her. The bird's just an ordinary sparrow hawk---but its claws had been tipped with poison."

"Poison," Hiei repeated.

"I captured the hawk with a Thrashvine and subdued it with the Keepsake leaf. And I've already analyzed the venom."

Shay-san's eyelids fluttered.

"It's similar to what El Chupacabra carries in its claws," Kurama explained. "The bird would have died of it, eventually."

Hiei suppressed a shiver. The night of El Chupacabra, when Shay-san had been poisoned by its attack. For a dizzying moment he was inside the Shrine, in Arizona, tending a girl he barely knew, who lay sheened with sweat and heartbeats from death.

He shook it away. Dwelling in the past was useless. He would retrieve the fear, shock, and anger later, and use it as a catalyst to destroy whoever had done this to her.

Crossing to the table, Hiei reached for Shay-san. If she needed a transfer of ki, his own wavelength was close enough. That particular gambit had worked before, with the Heartblade. "Here," he told her. "Grab onto---"

"Don't even think it," warned Kurama. "You're covered in wounds, and you know how this sort of toxin works."

Hiei noticed for the first time that Kurama wore surgical gloves. Moving to the desk, he found the box of gloves and pulled out a handful, tossed a couple to Yuusuke and Kuwabara. "Will ki travel through these things?"

"Worth a try," growled Kuwabara, working his hand into a glove, as Yuusuke mirrored his action.

"Excellent thought," said Kurama, sparing a dangerous emerald glance for Hiei. "And don't _you_ dare---your own aura is so depleted at the moment, any transference could kill you."

Hiei pressed his lips together. _I can do nothing---not even give her my strength. The idiot was right. Where the hell was I? If I had been there to protect her---_

"Ready!" Yuusuke held up his gloved hands. "What now?"

"Just lightly touch her ankles," directed Kurama, "but stay out of my way. You, too, Hiei---"

Snapping on a glove, Hiei curled his hand around Shay-san's. Even through that thin barrier, she felt too warm. Her face pale and glistening, teeth chattering, she did not yet open her eyes.

_Please_, he thought. _You have to survive. Your kids need you. I need you_. He managed to smile down at her and her eyes opened at last. Tears sparked their corners; she turned her head away. He knew how much she hated anyone to see her cry.

"Stupid woman," he said fondly.

Kuwabara and Yuusuke laid hands upon her; Hiei could sense the flow of their ki, pouring into her.

"Enough," said Kurama, never looking up.

The wounds on Shay-san's Dragon arm were already beginning to close. Hiei let out a sigh of relief.

"Hold her head." Kurama changed gloves, then reached into a pocket as Hiei cradled the back of her sweat-soaked head. The wrinkled green seed Kurama held between thumb and forefinger looked and smelled a lot like a cardamom pod. "I've replaced my stock so everything's untainted," Kurama informed him. "I've also kept the windows locked."

Hiei muttered, "No need to tell me all this---I trust you."

"Open your mouth," Kurama urged Shay-san. "Good girl. Now bite down on the seed and hold it on your tongue."

She bit into it. Immediately her head rolled to the side, and Hiei's stomach balled up again.

"It's all right," murmured Kurama. "The Sedare seed will help her sleep. She'll have to hold it on her tongue for a few minutes, and I need to make certain she doesn't choke on it." He glanced at Hiei. "And then I'll take a look at you."

0-0-0-0-0

Kuwabara and Yuusuke, satisfied that Shay-san was all right, had already left. At Shiori's urging, Hiei showered, then allowed Kurama to tend his wounds. Although he felt an urgent need to see Michael and CeeCee, to assure himself that they were safe, he did not want the smell and sight of his blood to frighten them.

The medical care had braced him somewhat, and the solid feel of the blessedly unhurt twins had lent him strength.

Yet he still had to struggle to keep his eyes open. It was later. Perhaps an hour later, or maybe only fifteen minutes; his sense of time was badly scrambled.

His firebird would live. That's all that mattered. She lay sleeping now in Kurama's own bed; Kurama felt it unwise to move her. Straddling a chair close to the bed, Hiei felt none too steady himself.

With curtains drawn, the darkened, hushed room was soothing to his eyes and ears. He needed to keep her in sight, needed to see her, lying on her back beneath a soft blue blanket. Needed the gentle rise and fall of her chest to reassure him that she was indeed still alive.

"Hiei." His voice barely above a whisper, Kurama pulled up his own chair. "We need to talk."

Hiei shook his head. "I'm watching over her."

"Kaasan will be happy to do so."

"I watched over her when that Chupa-whatsis attacked," he said stubbornly. "I'll do it now."

Kurama's voice conveyed a gentle reproach. "But you didn't have _us_ with you at that time."

Hiei shrugged.

"Where were you, Hiei? How did your feet reach such a state? How did you get such wounds?"

"All I remember is..." He squeezed his eyes shut. Sand? Rock? No. Even that flash was fading. The scent of granite? "Genkai giving me tea. Then the phone rang."

"Genkai's? How did you end up there?"

"Could've wandered out, hitched a ride, thinking that's where we still lived."

"You could have. But we both know you didn't."

Hiei said nothing, lifted a hand to his aching neck, searching for the familiar, comforting feel of---

"My Rosary!" Shay-san had given it to him back in America, bestowing that which itself had been a gift from her uncle Thomas McNeil, premiere demonologist.

"Right here," Kurama soothed, plucking the Rosary from a pocket; Hiei snatched it up. "Shay-san brought it with her," Kurama added, "along with your phone. She said you left everything: Rosary, phone, wallet, sword."

Unable to speak for a moment, Hiei curled his fingers around the Rosary, rubbing the surface of the striated wooden beads.

"Don't remember taking it off. Don't remember anything."

"Light still hurts your eyes?"

Hiei nodded. Kurama moved around to the front, blocking his view of Shay-san. "Then this will be unpleasant." Gently pressing a thumb to each of Hiei's eyelids to keep them open, Kurama shone a penlight into first one eye, then the other.

"Mnf!"

"Sorry." Clicking off the penlight, Kurama ran his skilled fingers over Hiei's head. "Those lumps concern me, but you don't appear to have a concussion." He slid his hand under Hiei's chin, apologizing again when the action caused Hiei to wince. "The worst contusion is on your jaw, but that's not broken. Your legendary toughness stood you in good stead."

_Toughness_. A fleeting image of Hiei's own face, but distorted, grinning back at him. Then gone.

Kurama pulled off his gloves and tossed them into a waste bin. "Now where did you get these injuries?"

"Not on the way here, except for a scratch or two when I crashed through some bushes."

"Were you in a fight?"

"Don't remember."

"Did you fall out of a tree?"

"I. Don't. _Fall_." But Hiei knew Kurama was only playing devil's advocate.

Smell. Taste. Fleeting memory of coppery blood in his mouth. Bone, gristle. No... gone. "And I never forget," Hiei went on softly. "I am incapable of it."

"This enemy knows more about poisons than the Medicis," Kurama muttered.

_True. Both Dragons down, my memory erased. The enemy has struck at will while we've only dealt them insignificant losses. And my firebird swears she didn't kill the oni that invaded our house back then---so who did?_

He turned his gaze up to Kurama's. Kurama looked away.

A light tap on the door, and then Kaasan entered with a tray of assorted bottles. Kurama rose to turn on his desk lamp.

"What, no tea?" Hiei manufactured a smile for her.

"Oh, you just hush." Kaasan laid the tray on the cleaned and empty massage table, with one shuddery glance at the leaf-bound creature on Kurama's desk.

Then, noting the leaden atmosphere, she presented a far more somber face. "Shuuichi, would these be safe for Hi-chan to drink?" She indicated the bottles on the tray.

"Sports drinks?" Kurama lifted a small bottle, cracked the seal. "Good idea. He's still quite dehydrated." He handed the bottle to Hiei, who drained it at a gulp. "And perhaps we could trouble you to bring up another round when Shay-san wakes."

"It will be my privilege." Shiori stood behind them, looking over their heads at the sleeping girl. "How is she?"

"She's been de-toxified," Kurama said, "given painkillers and a sedative. Hiei himself needs rest, but he refuses to leave her side."

Kaasan slid an arm around Hiei's shoulder, managing to find one of the few uninjured spots. "You do take care of your own."

Hiei shut his eyes.

Shiori might as well have stabbed him through the heart. An insidious voice murmured to him, _You weren't ready for any of this. You never asked for a mate, or offspring. All you wanted was to get out of Koenma's grasp and become stronger. You'd be better off in Makai_.

After a while, Shiori stepped back to unload the tray of drinks. When she headed for the door, they waited in stony silence for her to close it behind her and go downstairs. Then Kurama spoke, short and curt. "Your wife will recover. But her Dragon---"

"It's not your fault." _Something's up with Kurama. He's evasive, angry---but I lack the strength to find out why_.

Hiei almost asked that the kids be brought to stay in the room with them. But he heard Kaasan, talking to Michael: "An apple, that's right! Aren't you a clever little man! Now can you tell me which is the tangerine?"

Smiling, he realized they were in good hands, then stifled a yawn.

"I'll help you to the guest room," Kurama offered.

Hiei shook his head "I'm getting in with _her_."

"That's an awfully small bed."

"We're an awfully small pair."

"Suit yourself. At least let me help you into bed."

"Try it and you'll discover exactly how tough I am." Hiei made his way over to Shay-san, who was curled now in fetal position. Cautiously, he slid into bed at her feet. Aching stem to stern, he couldn't raise enough ki to keep her warm, but he managed to fit himself around her.

Kurama went to the door, pausing to snap off the light. "I really do have to look in on you," he said. "So spare me the death threats. When you wake, Kaasan will have made you something to eat. And tea, if I'm any judge of character."

Hiei heard him, but could not find the energy to respond. He slept, his dreams filled with nightmare images of bloody explosions.

(To be continued: Super happy times once again)

-30-


	38. FS C37: Endgame, Part One

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C37: Super Happy Fun Time Adoption Party

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: In the midst of chaos, the gang desperately needs this night of relaxation.

A/N: With a mix of anticipation and sorrow, we begin the final Firebird Sweet story arc. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

She looked up and gasped.

Firebird Sweet C37: Endgame (Part one, Super Happy Fun Time Adoption Party)

by Kenshin

"I don't like this, Chief." The gray oni spoke quietly, casting a nervous glance behind him at the office door. The two of them had ducked inside this fragile sanctuary to talk.

Carlos sighed. "What don't you like about it?" _Possibly everything?_

Almost a week had passed since the abortive abduction of the target, and the Boss had done next to nothing, except brag to all and sundry, "I used t' move that fast, an' better."

"I think you know what I mean," murmured the gray. "Maybe you haven't been with him as long as I have but I'm afraid the Boss is cracking up."

_And you're only just now noticing this?_ Carlos shrugged.

"He blew yet another opportunity to kill the kid---face to face this time." The oni let out a long sigh.

From out on the warehouse floor came the Boss' bellowing laugh, echoed by guffaws from the rest of the redshirts.

After this job, Carlos was determined to quit, to live in Dubai or Malta or Spain, to relax with his earnings, maybe hire out as a private pilot to stave off boredom.

None of which would be possible if they didn't wrap this up.

"He didn't use his fire on the kid at all?" Gray pressed.

"Nope."

"Wonder why."

Maybe, Carlos thought, because of fear. Or maybe seeing his own kid face-to-face caused the demon lord to hesitate, to re-think his plans. Maybe he was all bluster.

But he voiced none of this.

The oni licked his lips. "My guys are getting sick of hiding in the warehouse, and I can't say I blame them."

Carlos knew how that felt.

"They want to go back to Makai. And you---you're not looking too good yourself."

Since the death of Tasco and Gutierrez, Little Gray was the closest thing Carlos had to a friend. He managed a smile for the quiet, thoughtful oni. "But I don't belong on the demon plane."

"_He_ does."

_Amen_, added Carlos silently, and the sooner the better.

"It's doubtful the kid will remember who snatched him," the oni continued. "After all the Boss' Eye is still pretty strong. But if he does---"

Having seen the target angry, Carlos shuddered. During the week, they had acquired a panel truck, big enough to hide all the oni, and it had gone on patrol nightly, with no luck. "We can hardly mount an all-out assault in the middle of the city."

"And then there's the matter of all that plastic. Has The Boss told you what he plans to do with it?"

"All I know is, it's dangerous." Carlos shot a glance at the steel cabinet behind the desk. "That's why I keep it locked in the supply closet." Although plastic explosive must be set off remotely, with an electronic detonator, there was enough in that briefcase to vaporize the whole warehouse and half the dock.

The oni looked down. "He keeps saying our moment'll come."

"Maybe. But you have to make your own 'moments,' and time's not on our side."

"More than you know."

Carlos raised a questioning eyebrow at the gray oni. Another gust of laughter rose from the outside the door. Leaning forward quickly, the oni spoke in a low voice, as if he was afraid something would stop him. "The Boss now lacks the power to blow another hole in the Barrier. I think that's what the plastic is for."

0-0-0-0-0

In the midst of hunting an elusive and murderous foe, Shiori insisted that they have a party.

Parties were for celebrating, Hiei pointed out. What did they have to celebrate---that an unseen foe was toying with them?

"To properly welcome you into this family," she told Hiei. The paperwork for their adoption was in the queue. "And," she added, "I think we're all in need of letting off a little steam."

Hiei held onto the phone, hesitating.

He and Shay-san and the kids had ended up staying with Shiori most of the week, while snail's-pace improvements to their health had taken place. During that time, Genkai tracked Hiei's trail back to the cave, but had found only a burnt-out torch and some evidence of a battle. The enemy had abandoned that camp.

Hiei knew they were being watched. But he could not track the tracker.

Maybe Shiori was right.

So on a April warm night, a week after Hiei's disappearance, they assembled at the Yukimura diner : Hiei, Shay-san, Kurama, Kuwabara and Shizuru, Urameshi and Atsuko, Keiko, Shiori, even Hatanaka-san and Hatanaka Shuuichi.

When a slightly apprehensive Hiei inquired as to Ma and Pa Yukimura's whereabouts, Keiko winked at him and said, "What---you think I can't cook and Yuusuke can't serve?"

"Oi," bellowed Urameshi. "We should reverse that! I cook, Keiko serves. Remember the Crazy Dog Diner? I'm a pro."

"No." Shay-san lifted a glass of Sapporo. "See, we want to survive this."

There was a general chorus of assent.

"And Kurama has to wash dishes," Hiei added.

Kurama did not respond. Since the incident in the park that had left Shay-san's Dragon disabled, Kurama had been quiet, almost melancholy.

Notable by her absence was Yukina, safe at an undisclosed location known only to Father Brian, who made a brief appearance early in the evening, then retreated to his many parish duties.

0-0-0-0-0

Night had fallen in Warehouse Number Four. Carlos asked listlessly if the truck should go out on patrol again. He was not surprised when the Boss said, "This time we're gonna catch a break. I just know it."

0-0-0-0-0

Ma and Pa Yukimura, it turned out, had gone to a movie. Urameshi, with his strange sense of humor, had brought a karaoke set-uo, and Atsuko was now tenderly yodeling Kyu Sakamoto's 'Ue wo Muite Arukou,' known to Americans by the utterly unrelated title of 'Sukiyaki.'

Looking at the table groaning with food and drink, listening to the song and laughter of the humans around him, Hiei knew with an uneasy certainty that he had gone soft.

_Face it_, Hiei told himself, _we've all gone soft_. Romantic Soldier had, until now, taken up so much of their time and energy there was little left over for training.

_Does that scare you? It should. Almost as though someone had planned things this way_.

Smiling, Hatanaka senior helped his son to some _yaki udon_. Hiei realized that no one could play both roles. One could not be the ruthless warrior, honed to a razor's edge, able to kill even on waking from a sound sleep---and the attentive father.

Atsuko abandoned the mic at last, and the ladies clustered around the twins, but as babies everywhere will, Michael and Cecilia needed changing.

Shay-san, a bit wobbly from three Sapporos, rose to do it.

"Count me out." Shizuru yawned. "They're cute, but you've seen one dirty diaper, you've seen one too many."

"Amen," muttered Atsuko, with a meaningful glance at the oblivious Urameshi.

Hatanaka and his son appeared to be a bit nonplussed by the debate. But Keiko jumped up with a competing offer.

Shiori smiled. "You just sit here, both of you, and let me do it."

"Hey," Shay-san protested. "Who's---" She covered her mouth to hiccup---"The mommy here?"

"As if I was complaining," Shiori chided gently. "How many women are lucky enough to attain instant grandbabies?"

Kurama snorted a soft laugh. "This is the part where Kaasan gives me a significant look. The kind that says, _Well, Shuuichi? When is it your turn_?"

"It had better not be." Shiori patted Kurama's back. "You're not even 18---much too young to think such things."

Immediately, Kurama silenced again.

Hiei sighed, wondering at the intricacies of human family interactions. Forget human family life; Makai family interaction was difficult enough.

Hina had wanted to keep him. Hiei knew that, realized full well that his mother had pleaded for his life, begged that hideous rawhide chew-toy of a Kourime crone to be permitted to go off and raise him by herself.

Yet a small part of him insisted that Hina had not tried hard enough. That his own firebird, presented with a similar dilemma, would have ploughed through the Kourime and their precious scruples like tissue paper.

Even Shiori---

He watched Shiori return with the twins and seat herself next to Hatanaka-san. Well. Shiori would probably have picked Hiei up, chuckled at the sting of his baby flames, and said something like, "My, aren't you a lively little man. Let's see whether you can light the stove for me, shall we?"

Shiori caught his eye. Her sweet oval face settled into a cat-in-the-sun smile.

And Hiei had to look away before the lump in his throat dissolved into something far more disgraceful.

"Hey." Seeming to reach some sort of decision, Kurama grinned at Hiei and gave him an elbow. "Can I get in on this or are you keeping all the _takoyaki_ for yourself?"

0-0-0-0-0

Clouds streaked the early morning sky as a pretty young girl in pink sweats emerged from the back of the Yukimura diner, hauling the first of many trash bags to the dumpster.

She was being watched.

One watcher crouched unseen on the roof, not human but human in shape, tiny and agile and ruthless, steel-gray in hue.

Her other watcher was human altogether, and far too big to conceal himself on a roof. The weather had turned chilly this April 16th, but his bulging arms were bare of everything save tattoos as he pressed himself back behind the dumpster and waited for the girl. His eyes were intent, almost gleeful.

The girl stopped, dabbed her brow delicately with the back of one hand, and then performed a smart clean-and-jerk, tossing the trash bag into the dumpster.

Three times she made the trip. The man's long hungry eyes narrowed in amusement as he watched her haul trash.

On the third trip, he stepped out from behind the dumpster and revealed to her his presence.

She looked up and gasped.

0-0-0-0-0

When Hiei awoke, Shay-san and the twins were still hard asleep. Dressing quietly, he slipped downstairs to the sounds of Kuwabara in the kitchen, and the faint, pleasant aroma from the rice cooker.

Kuwabara was plating a bowl of 'cat food:' miso soup with a healthy dollop of rice. He nodded in greeting. "Yo, Shrimp. Some party last night, huh."

"Yo, Moron." Helping himself to his own cat food, Hiei leaned against the counter. "We dodged a bullet, too," he went on, between mouthfuls.

"How's that?"

"My firebird. Never seen her eat so much in my life. Or drink." He winced, recalling how he'd felt after guzzling a whole bottle of whisky in the park. "Hope she's not hung over."

Kuwabara reminded him that Shay-san had not been the chief engineer on the red-nose express last night. That honor had fallen to his sister.

Hiei gave him a crooked grin.

Kuwabara scowled. "What's so funny about that?"

"Not Shizuru---me. I still see double now and then. Still can't take a deep breath without hurting. Arm's still numb. Dragon's still deader than a doornail. But I'm alive."

"Maybe you didn't try hard enough." Snorting at his own witticism, Kuwabara added, "Did you get a load of Kurama?"

Hiei rinsed out his dish. "Yeah. Looks like he wants his fifteen minutes of fame back."

"When he grabbed the microphone, I thought he was gonna make some sappy speech about welcoming you into the family."

"Kurama? Never."

Kuwabara shrugged. "He was pretty wasted even by then."

"Like you said, some party." Hiei poured himself a steaming mug of coffee. "What happened after Shay-san and I left?"

"My sister was sayin' she could drink him under the table, and Kurama said, 'You're on.'"

Hiei choked on his coffee. "Did she?"

"Dunno." Kuwabara shrugged. "They were still tradin' shots when I left a half-hour after that."

"If Kaasan had been there, Kurama would never have dared."

Kuwabara was drinking tea instead of coffee. "Seems kind of weird to think you're gonna be part of that family," he said.

"The fox-boy will just have to get used to living in the shadow of his big brother."

"Big, my foot."

"Bite me."

Kuwabara did not take Hiei up on the offer. Instead, a slightly worried expression furrowed his brow. "Shizuru never made it home last night. I checked."

Hiei put his mug down. "You don't suppose they..."

"Now there's an ugly thought." Kuwabara shuddered and poured his tea down the drain as if the very image had soured it.

"But he's underage," said Hiei, as if to himself. The legal drinking age in Japan is 18, which meant (not counting Atsuko, Hatanaka-san and Kaasan) only Hiei, Shay-san, and Shizuru were of such age. But Kuwabara reminded Hiei that trying to shut down Shizuru was an exercise in futility.

Father Brian, Kaasan and the Hatanakas had left the party first, followed by Hiei and Shay-san. That meant there was no one minding the store, so to speak; as a chaperone, Atsuko rated worse than Urameshi.

The phone rang.

"Got it." Kuwabara snatched it off the hook.

Hiei stacked dishes in the sink.

"No, Shiori-san, he's not," Kuwabara said into the phone. "No, not since last night. Yeah, Hiei's here. Want to talk to him?" Hiei looked up; Kuwabara held the phone out. "For you."

Hiei's fingers closed on the phone. "Hi-chan?" Shiori sounded just a touch too cheerful. "I don't suppose you know where Shuuichi is, dear."

Hiei took a breath. _Good lord---did Kurama really go off with Shizuru_? "I'm not sure." _And where would they go? Not here, and certainly not Shiori's. A love hotel?_

Shiori laughed, a brittle sound. "It's not as though Shuuichi hasn't disappeared before. Sometimes, for days on end! But he's been pretty good about letting me know where he is lately. Ever since..." She trailed off.

"Kurama didn't come home last night?" Hiei would not mention that Kurama had been drinking. Nor would he voice his suspicions---probably unfounded---about Kurama and Shizuru. "Sure he didn't just leave the house early?"

"His bed hasn't been slept in."

"He's probably on his way home with a sheepish look on his face after spending the night at Yuusuke's." Speaking a few more reassurances, Hiei eased the phone back into the cradle.

Upstairs came the sounds of his firebird waking, the soft creak of her footfalls on carpet. His ears were attuned to pick up the morning babble of the twins.

Kuwabara gave him that slit-eyed, dangerous look. "My sister and Kurama? For real?"

"I'd better make some fresh coffee. Shay-san's awake."

"Is this the sort of thing Kurama would do?"

"How should I know?" Taking out a new filter, Hiei scooped coffee, then ran water into the reservoir and hit the switch, filling the kitchen with its fragrance.

"You've known him longer than any of us."

"Doesn't mean I know his dating habits," Hiei snapped.

"My sister's not all that much older than Kurama. And since Shay-san's older'n' you, maybe you guys started a trend."

But Kurama had never shown any romantic interest in Shizuru. Was it possible that he _had_ gone off with her, just to 'compete' with Hiei, to give Shiori grandchildren? Had he been that drunk? No---that did not sound like Kurama at all.

"If he was seeing someone I'd know it," Hiei murmured. _Or would I? Would he keep that from me_?

"This is messed up," allowed Kuwabara.

Upstairs, the shower was running.

"Maybe Kurama went to the library to look up poisons or somethin'," Kuwabara suggested. "Fell asleep there."

"The library was closed by the time he left the party."

And while Kuwabara and Hiei exchanged uneasy glances, each steeped in his own worries, the front door opened, then shut.

A few moments later, a red-eyed Shizuru stumbled into the kitchen. She swiveled her head from Hiei to Kuwabara, then shuddered. "Stop breathing so loud," she instructed.

0-0-0-0-0

Azuma Ken, his mission at the Yukimura diner complete, gave the steel-gray jaki a thumbs-up. The jaki flashed away over rooftops. Then the big man went in search of a pay phone to inform the Chief.

0-0-0-0-0

Shizuru sat on the living room sofa, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lip, an ice bag pressed to her head, and a mug of coffee gone cold on the table.

"You really should drink some water," urged Shay-san, balancing the twins in her lap.

"Not unless you wanna mop when I send it right back up the chute," grumbled Shizuru.

Shay-san made a little sound of sympathy. Kuwabara made a big sound of revulsion. Michael and CeeCee cooed, and Hiei remained silent.

Shizuru did not know where Kurama was.

Although she and Kurama had been the last ones standing, they had parted ways at the diner door. Shizuru had then run across a friend from the beauty parlor. "Miku and I went to one or two other bars," Shizuru said. "I think. And then I stayed at her place."

"Well," mused Shay-san, "since Kurama excels at whatever he does, I'm sure he went toe-to-toe with Shizuru just fine. But he would have been ashamed to face Shiori loaded." Shay-san paused, nibbling her lower lip. "Except why not sleep on our couch?"

"'Cause Urameshi's place is closer." Kuwabara got up and went into the kitchen. "Better give him a buzz."

Hiei let out a long breath. Kurama's absence could mean nothing. It could mean everything.

Kuwabara returned, shaking his head.

Silence reigned, during which Hiei knew everyone was thinking of his own disappearance and its consequences.

Outside, someone honked a horn.

Shay-san put her arms closer around the twins, rocking them. "If Kurama met with an accident---God forbid---he carries ID. Shiori would have been informed."

"Or if he got rolled by some punks," added Kuwabara, "and ended up in the E. R."

"No," said Hiei. They waited for him to go on.

While Hiei had no familiarity with Youko Kurama's drinking habits, he was fairly sure the King of Thieves would know that alcohol, taken in large enough quantities, is a poison.

And, he informed the others, even three sheets to the wind, Kurama could take any human foolish enough to tangle with what appeared to be a harmless, liquored-up schoolboy.

"More like six sheets," groaned Shizuru, switching the ice pack to the left side of her head.

"However many sheets," said Kuwabara, "this ain't like him."

It wasn't. Hiei had never _seen_ Kurama take a drink. Back at Genkai's temple, when Hiei had first brought Shay-san home from America, and the rest of them were 'toasting' him, Kurama had left his sake untouched.

Nor had Kurama imbibed while they were in America, playing at the Vista Room and living at the Kidd Estate, where in both places, liquor flowed like the Danube.

So why now? Was Kurama angry with Hiei for some reason? Bothered by the adoption? Haunted by the fact that he had given Hiei what should have proved a fatal dose of Two-Hearts poison?

Never mind why he'd been drinking. Concentrate on why he was missing.

Better yet, find him.

Hiei rose. "I'm going out to look for Kurama. You stay here and call if you hear anything."

There were murmurs of assent from everyone.

Hiei glanced back. Shay-san was on the floor now, playing with the twins, eliciting a stream of baby giggles from CeeCee and even a grin from Michael.

Hiei tried to imagine how he would feel if they went missing.

Wrenching open the door, he hurtled out into the street in search of his soon-to-be brother.

(To be continued: Where is Kurama?)

-30-


	39. FS C38: Losing Keiko

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C38: Losing Keiko

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Farewell to yet another friend and ally

A/N: Haven't you ever wondered what would happen if Keiko remembered what Hiei did to her back in that warehouse? Accompanying illos up for viewing on my LJ homepagey. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

Nothing left but a pile of ash.

Firebird Sweet C38: Losing Keiko (Endgame, Part Two)

by

Kenshin

One of the many good things about a small helicopter was that you could stow it in places a plane could not land.

And, Carlos reflected, although the Robbie could easily fit _inside_ the warehouse, neatly out of sight, it could not quite clear the warehouse door, not given the span of its rotors.

But it _could_ land with perfect ease on the flat roof of a building.

Abandoned buildings offered especially good pickings as far as landing pads were concerned. According to a number of their jaki stringers, this particular burnt-out building on which Carlos had just landed was once a mannequin factory.

Two stories high, its was made of concrete, and its basic structure was still sound. A pair of flat-roofed, rectangular wings sprouted from a somewhat taller central tower. Carlos had chosen to put down on the leftmost wing.

Whatever its original purpose, the factory was perfect for theirs. Far enough from the center of the city to avoid prying eyes, yet close enough for the Robbie to respond quickly if needed, it presented an ideal solution.

Carlos supposed jaki had their uses after all.

Still sitting inside the ship, he relaxed, shutting his eyes a moment, basking on an imaginary beach on the coast of Spain. Ah, to be luxuriating in hot sand, eating again, whenever and whatever he wanted!

But if the Spanish beaches were too much like Rio---

His eyes snapped open. All those painful memories he'd traveled halfway round the world to avoid---the terror of life in the _favelas_, dodging the hunter's bullets---the loss of his sister Bebita.

Cold fingers of panic reached for his gut, and he abandoned ship, scrambling out onto the roof.

Pacing, he berated himself: _Cut it out. You're a grown man. Images can't hurt you. Think of something else. What? Anything. Getting out of here. Away from the wonderful world of demons, for one. Think of architecture_.

Back and forth Carlos prowled, until he had scrubbed off enough energy to regain control. He stopped. The moment of weakness had gone.

He would stick to the city of Barcelona instead, with its smorgasbord of Antoni Gaudi buildings.

He glanced at his watch. Even in daylight, the factory gave off an air of menacing darkness. Though Carlos had no sixth sense to speak of, a pressure seemed to be building in the air that had nothing to do with meteorological conditions, for the early afternoon sky was storm-free.

_Maybe it's just that this job is drawing to an end_, he thought. _Spain, here I come_.

Still amazed that one of the Boss' gambles had actually paid off, Carlos waited for Azuma Ken to come pick him up.

0-0-0-0-0

Kurama had not spent the night with Shizuru.

In one sense, Hiei thought, that bit of news should have come as a relief.

But, flicking from the Kuwabara rooftop in an ever-widening search pattern around the city, Hiei also felt a sense of shame for believing Kurama would do such a thing. And with Kurama's powers still at a low ebb, it was not out of the question that the fox-boy could have gotten himself into serious trouble.

Hiei's own strength and endurance was at its lowest in a long time. Landing on a rooftop several blocks from home he paused, gasping for breath.

He was too depleted to race around the city, searching for Kurama without a plan---perhaps even too depleted to employ his Jagan, which had troubled him ever since his disappearance.

Return to the scene of the crime? Good idea.

Keiko could be of enormous help. Though not a fighter per se, she was bright, diligent, observant. Hiei had come to regard her as something of a younger-sibling figure, someone worthy of his protection.

Besides, anyone who could clobber Urameshi was okay in his book.

That much decided, Hiei headed for the Yukimura diner.

The diner was housed in a two-story building, with the restaurant on the first floor and living quarters on the second. A few shreds of cloud still streaked the robin's-egg sky when Hiei landed on the roof and peered down into the neat, graveled yard. A concrete barrier set the property apart from its neighbors. Farthest from the house lay a dumpster; along the right side of the barrier, a small flower bed featured early narcissus in bloom.

In his normal condition, any plant was a weapon to Kurama.

Hiei hesitated. He could hardly dive into Keiko's window, but even as he wondered what to do, the back door opened and she emerged, carrying a pan of water. Glancing around her, Keiko stepped hesitantly out to water the bulbs.

Hiei called to her. "Keiko!"

When she didn't respond, he vaulted down from the roof, landing behind her with a hiss of gravel. He repeated her name, more urgently this time.

Spinning, Keiko saw him. Her eyes widened, and she clutched the empty pan to her like a shield.

"It's just me," Hiei reassured her.

"Just you?" A flush colored her cheeks. In a low, shaky voice, she warned him, "You stay away from me."

_What the---?_ Hiei blinked once. Twice.

"Don't touch me," Keiko went on. "Don't talk to me. Just stay away from me."

_Huh? What on earth could I have said last night to cause---?_ "Keiko...?" For a free-floating moment, Hiei almost forgot to ask about the missing Kurama. But there was no time to waste playing games with an offended schoolgirl. "Look, forget about me. Kurama---"

"I know what you did to me!"

A bit of movement arising from the house caught Hiei's eye. Keiko's father appeared, framed in the back doorway. Glancing Yukimura-san's way, lowering her voice to a whisper, Keiko repeated, "I _know_."

Yukimura-san saw Hiei, waved, then ducked back inside.

"Keiko, I don't have time for this game. Kurama's---"

"So it's a game, is it? I suppose you think it's a game to hide this forever?"

"Hide what?"

But even as the words left Hiei's mouth, Keiko snapped, "I see. Pretend it never happened. All this time in your presence, chattering like a fool, and you were laughing at me inside!"

A chill stole over him that had nothing to do with the cool April breeze.

The _Kouma no Ken,_ The Ghost Blade.

Wanting to attain the other two Artifacts and lure Urameshi to his death, Hiei had attacked Keiko with the _Kouma no Ken_, then kidnapped her. And if Urameshi Yuusuke had not defeated him, Keiko would have become a demon herself, moreover, one completely under Hiei's control.

Hiei could explain the incident away, of course, if only to himself; back then, at that age, experiencing the roller coaster of his first hormonal surge, he had lacked the power to control both himself and the Artifact of Darkness. And he had also been several shades more ruthless.

Keiko picked up on his hesitation. "Yes, that. The warehouse!"

The idea of striking a defenseless human girl now sickened him, seemed the worst brand of cowardice. And even if Hiei was strong enough to use his Jagan on her now, he would not, not even to gain her swift cooperation. "Keiko---I was a different person back then."

"Are you trying to deny that it happened?"

"No, only there's no time for---"

"So I was going to become your puppet?"

"Keiko, stop!"

"I know everything!" she cried. "Everything!"

Everything? But that should have been impossible. While Keiko was still unconscious in the warehouse, Kurama had given her some of the pollen of the Dreamflower, just as he had once given Kitajima Maya. It should have erased Keiko's memory of the incident. Long after his assault on Keiko took place, when Hiei had begun 'serving time' under Koenma, Kurama told him so.

Kurama. Time was eating him up.

"Listen, Keiko, forget about me. Kurama's missing. Don't you even care?"

"Kurama can look after himself!"

"But---"

"Besides, he was in on it, too! He's the one who made me forget, and never said a word to me, either!"

"He did what he felt was best for you."

"Oh, how thoughtful of him," Keiko went on. She swung the pan at Hiei; he ducked back. "You took my freedom, he took my memory. Nobody consulted _me_. Not a word about the fact that you used me, took me as bait, like I was a---a thing!"

"Keiko, just listen a minute---"

"No! I don't have to listen to anything you say! And I'm warning you---"

"Who told you the details?"

"What does it matter?" Furious tears quivered in the corners of her eyes, and Hiei realized that this was no old wound, no remote danger long passed. Keiko was reacting as though the incident had occurred last night. She was, in fact, living the moment as though for the first time.

This was bad.

Raising a hand to dash the tears away, she continued. "I couldn't believe it at first---you always treated me as a friend. You even asked my help with the house you wanted to build for Shay-san. And you saved me from those kidnapers."

"Forget about me, Kurama is---"

"And all along, you yourself were a kidnaper. Yuusuke confirmed the story! It's true, isn't it?"

A skirl of wind plucked at Hiei's shirt.

"It's true," he admitted. "But that doesn't matter when---"

"Don't you dare tell me what matters and what doesn't!" She cut him off with a savage gesture of the empty pan, then struggled to regain some self-control. In a voice of deadly calm, she told him, "Get out of here. And if you ever try to approach me again, I will expose you and have you arrested for kidnaping."

Turning her back on him, Keiko marched toward the diner, her footsteps crackling on the gravel.

_Arrested?_ Hiei thought. _And the cops already suspect me of blowing up that building, maybe even of killing Lermontov. _

"Wait, Keiko! Did Kurama say anything to---"

"Don't make me get my father!" She spun to face him one final time.

"Kurama may be in---"

Keiko ran back into the diner, then slammed the door.

A flock of startled birds rose from a nearby tree.

The wind tugged at Hiei again, reminding him of his mission. "Shay-san will miss you," he said, though Keiko could not possibly hear him.

There was no time. Kurama must be found.

Thrusting aside his dismay, Hiei sprang to the roof, then flicked away as fast as his shaky condition permitted.

0-0-0-0-0

Carlos had returned to Warehouse Number Four.

He did not want to enter the office. What was going on in there had nothing to do with him, and the sooner they finished with it, the better.

He tried to lose himself in surveillance, but the monitors showed only empty streets, empty forests; the pretty little ice maiden had not appeared for their cameras in some time.

The gray oni, manning the rack of equipment, sighed. "No need for the both of us to be watching dead air."

Carlos shot him a curious, sidewise glance. All along, this demon had displayed a quiet and thoughtful nature, very different from his underlings. "You got a name?" Carlos inquired.

Startled, the gray oni met Carlos' eyes. "F-fukuoka," he stammered.

"Too long." Carlos shook his head. "Make it Fuku."

The oni grinned. "Deal."

From the Boss' office came the squelching thud of knuckles impacting on flesh.

Rising, Carlos hurried across the floor. Yanking the door open, he snapped at Red Oni: "That's enough! Leave him alive---and recognizeable."

"Yeah. At least until we take th' picture." In the corner of the office, the Boss began to laugh, the sound like lava bubbling up from the pits of Hell.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei's Jagan, as he suspected, was useless. Weak as he was, with his muscles still like water, he could not control it.

Sinking to his knees on a steep-pitched roof, he considered his options. There seemed to be only one.

As much as he hated to ask, Hiei needed help.

And as his friends had searched for him, they would rally to search for Kurama. It had been several hours since Shiori had said Kurama never made it back home; Hiei could imagine her, with her motherly heart struggling to hold fear and panic at bay.

And though Keiko would not now speak to Hiei, or even Shay-san, Shizuru could still phone the girl and debrief her, find out if she saw or heard anything unusual last night.

His decision made, Hiei turned---and found himself face-to-face with the enemy.

One of them, anyway.

On the peak of the roof, not four feet from Hiei, crouched a jaki, steel-gray in color.

_A steel-gray_, Hiei thought, _was one of the jaki that worked for that Boss demon._

The ugly little thing bowed and leered, resembling an oni in miniature: horns, thick black mane, and tusks.

And it clutched an envelope in its hand.

"It's for you, pipsqueak." The jaki cocked an arm back in imitation of a baseball pitcher and tossed the envelope; Hiei snatched the missile im mid-air. "You should feel honored," the jaki smirked. " An insect like you, getting an invitation from royalty."

_Royalty_. The word bit at Hiei. Not removing his gaze from the creature for an instant, he pocketed the envelope. "You're dead," he informed it.

"Listen up, eyeball boy." It lifted its tiny lip in a tiny sneer. "Killing the messenger won't make you feel any better." Laughing, it darted away from him, paused at the end of the roof, then turned for one final jeer.

Almost casually, Hiei flicked a forefinger, sending an arrow of flame toward the jaki.

It didn't even have time to scream.

"Wrong." Gazing at the meager pile of ash on the rooftop, Hiei's fingers curled around the envelope in his pocket. "I do feel better now."

0-0-0-0-0

The dun-brown jaki, Carlos thought, resembled a rat in such detail, right down to its scaly, naked tail, that he could not look at it without a shudder of distaste.

But considering the bit of information it had just handed the Boss, it was about to be treated like royalty.

Too bad, what would now have to happen to the little ice maiden. It had nothing to do with Carlos. Best not to dwell on it.

One thing was clear: with everything coming together now, the target wasn't going to know what hit him, and by this time next week, Carlos would be admiring the buildings of Barcelona.

0-0-0-0-0

The wind lifted the jaki's ashes, scattering them across the rooftops. Reluctantly, Hiei drew the envelope from his pocket.

It was a simple white rectangle, the kind you can buy at any stationery store, and it was not sealed. Holding the envelope in his left hand, with his right he opened the loose flap and reached inside to encounter a single sheet, cool and glossy.

His sense of touch told him that it was a photograph even before he drew it out and regarded the image.

Resisting the urge to crush the photo in his fist, Hiei slid it back into the envelope, jammed it in his pocket, then raced toward home.

(To be continued: Who's going to break the news to Shiori?)

-30-


	40. FS C39: Minato no Blues

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C39: _Minato no Blues_

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Will the boys find Kurama alive?

A/N: _'Minato no Blues_ (Harbor Blues)' is a well-known enka song which Kurama sang at the karaoke club in _Idiot Beloved_. You might be able to find a recording---though not of Kurama!---online somewhere. Sketches can be viewed on my LJ homepagey. As always, thanks for reading this. I look forward to your reviews.

"He fears your strength!"

Firebird Sweet C39: _Minato no Blues_ (Endgame, Part Three)

by

Kenshin

Moonlight painted the ground with a fresh coat of silver. The smell of salt air, laced with the more pungent tang of machine oil, set Hiei's teeth on edge. 

To the right and left of them, warehouses hunkered down like crafty sentinels. For all Hiei knew, each of them could be hiding an army of Class-A _youkai_. And the narrow street formed by the warehouse fronts was far too similar to his nightmares of The Stranger in the white realm of the Kourime. 

In fact, the entire set-up had the blunt-force trauma of _deja vu_ wrapped in a fist of precognition.

_This is where it began. Is this where it will end_? 

Hiei assured himself that this time, he was armed: beneath his mantle, a katana pressed against his back, comforting and deadly.

The waterfront was fairly still that time of night---and blessedly underpopulated. Like the metal skeletons of some fantastic beast, a couple of cranes nestled close to the docks where a lone ship lay berthed. Across the harbor, a battalion of skyscrapers kept watch from their multitude of yellow eyes.

Above the background of water's slap on the pier, of small craft purring across the waves, the team's footfalls as they approached rang loud as gunshots.

Warehouse Number Four. 

Hiei held out a hand and they stopped: he in the lead, Kuwabara at Shay-san's right, Urameshi to her left.

Kuwabara whispered to Shay-san, "You sense that?"

Shay-san licked her lips. "Ki. Big, bad ki." She, too, spoke in a whisper.

"Like that time at the pachinko parlor with Botan." Urameshi echoed their hushed tones. 

Yet despite the desire for stealth, there was little need; Hiei knew their own auras would announce them to the enemy. "Let's go," he said.

It had taken Hiei some time to assemble the attack force, but they would still make the rendezvous scribbled on the back of the photograph. 

First, Hiei had informed Shiori that he knew where Kurama was being held, reassuring her they would get him back unharmed. Second, he made sure Shizuru was sober enough to guard Michael and Cecilia, because Shay-san insisted on taking part in the pick-up. 

And Hiei relented. Although her Dragon of Smoke had been deactivated, there was nothing wrong with Shay-san's Command Voice, and her ability to kill with a word might come in handy. 

Urameshi and Kuwabara rounded out the team, and Hiei found a certain bitter irony in the fact that the meeting place was exactly where he had first fought Urameshi.

He had changed a little since then.

("Kurama will be familiar with hostage situations," Hiei had informed the team. "And he'll work to escape, no matter how badly he's injured."

"Freakin' bastards," Kuwabara growled. Urameshi remained oddly silent, saying nothing about Keiko. That could come later, if they were alive to deal with it.)

For now Hiei would have to ignore his own physical weakness, scorn the dizziness he felt, be ready for anything. They had gone over a few plans of attack, but Hiei was certain of only one thing---plans could change in a heartbeat.

"Stay calm," he repeated, as they headed toward the warehouse door. "Look for an opening."

"And if there ain't one I'll make one." With a flash of his old humor, Urameshi cocked his Rei-gun hand.

"All we care about now is getting Kurama back in one piece," Shay-san reminded them. 

Hiei flicked a glance her way. If he was feeling dizzy and weak, then how was it for her, a fragile human female? Yet in the stark light, her expression was stony, the face of a gunslinger out for vengeance. _This 'Carlos,_' Hiei wondered, _is he behind this? Are we about to face the Boss at last_?

He reminded himself that Shay-san had also been abducted mere weeks ago, not as a hostage, but as a victim. 

Kurama could be dead already.

_No_, Hiei insisted; _Kurama is a true hostage. They want us here. They sent me the picture of his bruised, battered face. They named the time and place._

_It's probably a trap. Of course it's a trap_.

Hiei had no way of knowing the enemy's strengths, his numbers, how closely he was guarding Kurama. His own limitations he knew all too well.

Identical in shape and size to every other building in the row, Warehouse Number Four had a large metal door that slid up from the bottom. Kuwabara crouched, laid hold of it, and put his back into the task. Groaning, the door shuddered open.

Edging just inside the door, they waited for their eyes to adjust to the dimness.

The warehouse resolved into a stark rectangular space, strung with catwalks at its perimeter and also bisecting the peaked ceiling. Metal power conduits snaked up from the floor and across the walls. 

On the far wall, wooden crates were stacked two high, with more crates piled on either side of the entrance door. On the long wall to their left stood a door, probably to a washroom or office.

Far too many hiding places for Hiei's liking.

Against the long wall to Hiei's right, resting on low crates, was a rack of surveillance equipment---enough consoles and monitors to furnish a small recording studio. Indignation rolled over him: _So that's how they've been watching us_!

He glanced up. Fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling, though none were lit. The only illumination came from outside the warehouse. 

Moonlight flung itself across the floor, as though someone had rolled out a carpet for their welcome. _Dramatic effect_, thought Hiei. 

"What is there," muttered Urameshi, "some warehouse decorator's union that kits them out all alike?"

_What goes around comes around_, Hiei told himself, gliding toward the crates opposite the door. _Stay sharp, look for opportunities_.

His eyes fully adjusted now, Hiei discerned figures lurking near the crates, and stopped. He counted three, no four---one skulking behind the other three. _Your move_, he thought.

And out of the pooled darkness surrounding the crates, an oni stepped into the moonlight, coming to a halt ten feet away. 

He was quite small for one of his kind, not even as tall as Kuwabara, with gray skin and a calculating look of wariness. Though clearly in charge of the two oni behind him, the gray was not the source of the poisonous, powerful ki. Nor did it come from either the blue or ochre oni, though they towered over him.

_That's it?_ wondered Hiei. _Three oni? D-class nonentities. Thugs. Bonebreakers. No aura to speak of. That's the extent of the attack force? How could three oni overpower Kurama, drunk or not, lacking full strength or not? _

No---none of these creatures was the source of that aura. But it was there, all around them, banked by an unseen hand.

"I see you've arrived on time," stated the gray oni.

"We've come for our friend," Hiei countered.

A low, bubbling laugh, almost volcanic in nature, rose from darkness. And the other figure, far smaller even than the gray oni, stalked into the light.

Hiei stared, holding his breath. This newcomer was flanked by a horde of trembling water-dancers---the 'pixies' of Hiei's drunken diversion in the park last November.

But they were not the objects of Hiei's stare. He stared instead at the creature using the water-dancers as a shield. Recognized him, and somehow, through the onrushing tide of memory, managed to remain standing.

"Holy crap," gasped Urameshi. "It's like looking at Hiei through a funhouse mirror."

"Nah." From behind him, Kuwabara put a hand on Hiei's shoulder, though the physical contact barely registered. "He's nothin' like Hiei."

"Correct." Shay-san's voice was a Spellcaster's snarl that ripped chills down Hiei's spine. "That creature lacks a soul."

_Old Dragon,_ Hiei thought. _We meet again!_ Images from the cave flooded him: 

(Flickering torchlight. "Bow to the King," demanded the red oni. The 'King' heavy and powerful, striding forward on short, thick legs, his aura reeking of poison and decay.

_Old Dragon_, Hiei had immediately named him, though he did not know why... the eerie light, the primordial cave, the oni holding Hiei bound and captive as Old Dragon had sneered, _"S'matter? Don'cha recognize yer own father?"_)

The creature standing before Hiei bristled with the same mix of arrogance and contempt as he had shown back in the cave. 

Hiei shuddered in revulsion. "Bastard." 

"Thanks." The Old Dragon's broad grin made Hiei want to slap it off his face; the heavy voice grated on his ears. 

_I owe you_, Hiei thought. _Owe you big-time_.

Thicker across the shoulders than Hiei, barrel-chested, pouchy and bloated around the middle, Old Dragon wore tight black garments, as if to emphasize his bulk. His black hair was spiked and starred, nearly identical in pattern to Hiei's, and framed a face that was shaped like a compressed heart. His features, too, were slightly different than Hiei's, coarser, blurred by corruption. All three of his eyes were jet-black---including the small, vertical Jagan.

"Father," Hiei said, the word bitter in his mouth. 

He ignored the gasps of shock from his cohort as they learned the truth. "Or should I say, Old Dragon?" Hiei continued. "The term 'Boss' doesn't really do you justice."

"This guy's the Boss?" Kuwabara's voice scaled up in astonishment. "The one causin' us trouble all along?"

"Why that---!" Urameshi muttered. "I can't stand anyone who won't come and fight out in the open!" 

"Well, it ends here." Shay-san declared.

"You have something of mine," Hiei continued. "I want it back."

Old Dragon laughed. "In due time, kid. In due time."

Shay-san brushed past Hiei, and there was nothing between her and Hiei's father.

"Old Dragon in front of me," she crooned.

_No_! Hiei shouldered forward to shield her, but Old Dragon laughed again.

"Save yer breath, bitch." The elder fire demon grinned like a toad; Hiei's skin crawled. "Save yer breath. Yer tricks ain't gonna work on me. I seen t'that."

"That's quite all right." Stepping back again, Shay-san sounded remarkably calm. "Hiei will gut you like a fish."

Hiei heard the sound of his own voice. "How would you prefer your head, Father? On a pike? Or perhaps used as a bowling ball? Maybe your hide would look good stapled to this warehouse door."

"Try it." Old Dragon let out a belly laugh that sent the pixies shrilling in terror. "Oh, yeah, I heard of yer woman's witchcraft. That's why I took out her Dragon o' Smoke!"

"Detestable swine." Kuwabara clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing to sword-glints. "Only a coward would attack a girl!"

Old Dragon sneered. "Y'call _that_ piece o' work a girl?"

"Shut up," spat Hiei. "Your opponent is _me_."

Kuwabara moved up to cover Shay-san's back. "I don't get it," he said to her. "You're a Spellcaster. Does this mean fire demons are immune to---"

"He's deaf." The knowledge slid into Hiei like a skeleton key snicking into an old lock. "Reads lips. Back at the cave, the way his minions always faced him---" 

"Yeah." Another mocking laugh bubbled up from Old Dragon's lips. "Wanna see what I done?" Flicking out a clawed hand, he snatched up a shivering water-dancer by her throat. As they looked on in horror, Old Dragon inserted one of his long, wicked claws into her ear and thrust it home. 

The water-dancer's scream was worse than the expression of agony on her face. Mercifully, neither sight nor sound lasted long. Old Dragon raised a hand, palm-down, summoning a tongue of flame that engulfed her.

"Coward!" Shay-san's trained, deadly voice lashed the air; the blue oni whimpered.

The surviving water-dancers scrambled away, groveling together in a pathetic huddle near the foot of the catwalks. The stench of their sister's burning flesh curled like bile in the back of Hiei's throat. 

"So he punctured his own eardrums," Shay-san realized. 

"Damn!" muttered Urameshi. "That is one sick puppy." 

Old Dragon spread his arms in an expansive gesture. "Come at me any way ya like---an' all at once if it makes y'feel less scared." A cunning look slid into his eyes. "Oh, but wait---if ya do, then maybe I don't let ya have what ya came for."

"Enough!" Hiei's voice exploded into the warehouse. "Give me back my friend!"

As if in answer, the smaller door opened.

Three figures emerged into the shadows. Two of them were oni, but the one in the lead was human.

He had a foreign look, and had once been strongly built, as evidenced by his big frame. His long brown hair was skinned back into a tail. _Carlos!_ Hiei recalled, his gaze raking the human's. Carlos looked thinner still than he had in the cave, only a week ago, but this time he did not look away from Hiei. His eyes were blanks, like coins without polish. He spoke in the same oddly-accented voice Hiei had heard in the cave. "Nobody move."

"Whatever you say, Chief," Hiei replied.

"_This_ is Carlos?" Shay-san hissed, at his back. For a moment, Hiei feared he would have to restrain her, but she made no further move. The others, too, held their tense silence.

Then Carlos stepped aside, and Hiei saw that the red and purple oni were dragging a second person between them. 

They proceeded toward the carpet of moonlight until they were a little behind Old Dragon, then stopped.

Hiei had eyes only for the lanky, russet-haired figure that sagged between the red and purple oni. _Kurama! He's alive!_ A fierce rush of relief strengthened him.

Grunting, the purple oni lifted Kurama bodily. Bound hand and foot, Kurama flopped in its grasp. It tossed Kurama like he was nothing more than a sack of grain, sent him flying to land in a crumpled heap at Old Dragon's feet.

"Oops," it simpered. "My hand slipped."

"Kurama!" Kuwabara lunged forward.

Not taking his eyes from Kurama, Hiei stopped Kuwabara's charge with a hand to his chest.

And even as Kurama struggled to his knees, the purple oni darted forward, cast Hiei a triumphant glare, and kicked the boy. Kurama fell again, crying out.

Old Dragon chuckled deep in his throat.

"Cut it out!" snapped Carlos, and the purple oni backed off. Carlos nodded at Hiei's group. "Come get him now."

Cautiously, alert for a trap, Hiei started toward the fallen Kurama. 

Kurama lay on his side, facing Hiei, his right eye blackened, swollen nearly shut. Blood trickled from his nose and from his split, puffed lips. A fretwork of blood-beaded scratches marred his clear-cut features, staining the alabaster skin and russet hair.

"Not you, runt!" barked the purple oni. Hiei stopped, glaring at the creature. "You stay put," it ordered. "The girl and the carrot-top can haul this piece of trash away." 

Behind Hiei, Urameshi muttered a vicious curse. "So you think you can just say anything you like?"

The oni smirked. "Yeah---if you want this scumbag back."

But it was Carlos who was the Chief here, not the purple thug. At the foreigner's nod, Shay-san and Kuwabara walked toward Kurama, their footsteps slow and deliberate.

Kurama raised his head to meet Hiei's gaze. The old-young eyes in the battered face were remarkably clear.

_Kurama!_ Hiei thought, unwilling to trust his voice now. _That bastard will pay for---_

---Whatever you do, Hi-chan, don't react. I'm playing this up a bit. It's not as bad as it looks.

A jolt like an electric shock ran through Hiei. 'Hi-chan?' Shiori's pet name for him! No one else dared use it---but the utterance had the sound of Kurama's distinctive contralto voice.

Kurama had said his injuries were not as bad as it looked. But they were bad enough. Whatever extraordinary means by which Hiei could read Kurama's thoughts, he could also read Kurama's body, and the body beneath the torn, filthy jeans and shirt was every bit as battered as the face.

The purple oni that had kicked Kurama now lifted him again. "Catch!" it shouted, and flung him at Kuwabara's feet. Kuwabara tried, but missed. Kurama landed hard, releasing a gasp of pain that was not manufactured. 

_There's two more I owe you for._ Hiei favored the oni with a silent death-glare.

Shay-san helped Kuwabara get the fox-boy to his feet, then wedged herself under his arm so she could support him as well. While they freed Kurama, Hiei's thoughts spun. _How am I hearing Kurama? Through the Jagan? But I never had any psychic link to him before. Unless---_

Back in the cave, the sheer force Old Dragon's natural Jagan had shut down the abilities of Hiei's own implant as efficiently as a candle-snuffer extinguishes a flame, though with far more brutality. Hiei remembered the pain, like someone driving an ice-pick into his skull.

Again in Old Dragon's presence, Hiei experienced the same dampening effects on his Eye, though thankfully without the pain. He would be no more able to use his Jagan than a match would be able to light itself at the bottom of the Pacific ocean. Its arcane powers were snuffed, but good. 

Except telepathy. The psychic strata. Maybe here, for whatever reason, Old Dragon's Jagan was acting as a psychic amplifier.

Hiei had always been able to 'read' his firebird, to an extent. Perhaps now---

"Woman," Hiei said, keeping his eyes on Kurama. "You and Kuwabara take the fox and go."

Shay-san did not speak, but flared at him through the Jagan:

--No! I can still fight! I have the gun! And I can control the oni if---

Hiei responded: 

---Yuusuke and I have it covered. You need to help protect the twins and get Kurama back to Shiori.

He was right and she knew it. But Shay-san was still a creature of action, longing to join the fray, to help them defeat the monster who had murdered their friends. Hiei could feel her anger, her helplessness, her frustration. He could not respond further. He needed all his strength and focus to be able to do what he could not do, but must do.

Kurama was drawing closer, swaying, leaning heavily on both Kuwabara and Shay-san. He had, Hiei thought, seemed almost melancholy since the Rose Whip incident, and it had worsened after Shay-san was attacked by the venom-tainted hawk.

Kurama stumbled, fell at Hiei's feet. While Kuwabara and Shay-san hovered anxiously over them, Hiei was down in an instant, supporting the lolling head---speaking once more through the Jagan.

---Used yourself as bait, did you? 

And the breathy contralto voice replied:

---It's still not as bad as it looks.

Though Hiei had fought alongside this young man, and knew well his toughness, the sight of those injuries, inches away, lashed him to a cold fury.

---Listen closely, 'Hi-chan.' The water-dancers, back in the park, when you were drunk. They were trying to warn you. 

--Warn me of what?

An almost-smile flicked across Kurama's battered features.

---I managed to find out a thing or two. This fire demon's been planning your death for a long time. 

---And you let yourself get captured to glean this little nugget?

---Well. Maybe it wasn't all that deliberate on my part. Maybe I don't even know myself, but once I was here, I took advantage of the situation.

---Fool!

"Get movin'," snarled Old Dragon. "I mean it!"

---We haven't much time. But know this: He's afraid of you, this demon. That's why he's been picking off those around you, the defenseless ones like Kenji. Lermontov surprised them, gave them a good fight. But he fears you. Your courage, your power, your raw guts. That's why he strikes from the shadows. 

"Enough of this reunion crap." Old Dragon's warning voice sawed at Hiei's ears. "Get the fox-boy on his feet an' outta here before I change my mind."

Kuwabara knelt, and gently lifted Kurama to a standing position, supporting him with one big arm. With Shay-san draping Kurama's other arm over her shoulders, the three of them made their slow, careful way to the warehouse door.

Hiei did not turn. At his back, he sensed them pause, heard the echo of Kurama's voice in his mind once more:

---Remember! He fears your strength! But don't underestimate him.

Hiei marked their retreat by the movement of spidery shadow before him. Then they were gone, and the moonlight pointed a direct path to the enemy, like a sword of silver flame. 

That was when Urameshi, his eyes blazing in anticipation, moved to stand at Hiei's shoulder. 

Regarding them, Old Dragon gave another unpleasant laugh. "School's out, kiddies. What I did to the fox-boy was only an appetizer. I'm gonna send ya home in a box." 

"Try it." And with only Urameshi at his side, Hiei prepared himself to slaughter his own father.

(To be continued: the real battle begins)

-30-


	41. FS C40: Battle In The Warehouse

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C40: Battle In The Warehouse

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The confrontation that's been brewing for so long finally begins.

A/N: For those keeping score, the handguard on a _katana_ is called a _tsuba_. Character sketches can be viewed on my LJ homepagey. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"I'll do whatever it takes to stop you!"

Firebird Sweet C40: Battle In The Warehouse (Endgame, Part Four)

by

Kenshin

With Shay-san and Kurama safely out of the picture, Hiei took a moment to assess Old Dragon.

Lifting his lip in something that passed for a grin, Old Dragon stood across from Hiei and flexed his bulky shoulders.

_Can't use my aura to fight_, Hiei thought. _Too weak. In fact I'd die if I attempted it. Haven't been able to access it for some time now. Saving my firebird back then took a lot out of me. Two-Hearts took more_.

But he was a cannier fighter than in the old days.

A _youkai's_ age can be difficult to pinpoint, and Old Dragon was no exception. _Though he'd have to be at least 21 years older than me_, Hiei thought, with a flash of black humor.

As far as condition went, that excess flesh might slow Hiei's father down. Other than that, and the glint of madness in his eyes, Old Dragon appeared fit enough. The claws which he'd used to deafen the water-dancer could undoubtedly shred flesh.

_But my sword can do worse._

_A handful of thugs, a human, and one powerful demon. I can take them_.

So--limbs shaky, vision blurred, mouth dry from the lingering effects of poison, and with no one but Urameshi at his side, Hiei prepared to obliterate his own father.

The small gray oni and the human Carlos stood shoulder-to-shoulder; both purple and red oni scurried up to join forces with the other two, moving in to close ranks and place Old Dragon behind them in a protected position.

"Stay where y'are!" warned Old Dragon.

"Smart move." Beside Hiei, Urameshi's voice was thick with a threat of his own, and his stance indicated he might let fly with his Rei-gun at any moment.

But this was not Urameshi's battle.

"Boss," pleaded the purple oni. "Lemme cream the runt."

"Shuddup, you!" Old Dragon returned his calculating gaze to Hiei. "It ain't yer fight!"

"At least lemme rough him up a little!" The purple oni moved into Old Dragon's view. "I owe him for this gimpy leg."

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" A sly look of deceit crawled across Old Dragon's coarse features. "Go ahead an' play with him."

"Stay out of this, Yuusuke," Hiei warned.

"On my mark--" Old Dragon slashed the air with one hand.

The purple oni charged Hiei. In a lightning move, Hiei let his mantle fly, then drew his sword, bisecting the attacker before its death rattle even hit the air.

"Correction," Hiei told it. "I owe _you_ for the cave, and double for what you did to Kurama." Stepping over the lumps of flesh, he eyed the angry, assembled oni. "Who's next?"

The surviving oni glared at Hiei. Claws cricked, tusks bared, they howled for justice.

"I'll shred you!" The red oni was next to launch itself at Hiei. In an almost leisurely manner, Hiei tracked its arc, then spun to take it out with a backhanded stroke of his sword.

Laughing, it dodged at the last possible moment. Urameshi shouted a warning, but too late.

Old Dragon raised a hand. His fire-blast spurted forth to envelop Hiei's katana. Hiei cried out as the sword heated to red, wavered and bent, becoming almost liquid from demonic flame. Going to white-hot, the blade puddled over the handguard, turning it to ash, until finally his sword was nothing more than a rivulet of melted steel at Hiei's feet.

Urameshi cocked his gun-hand, but Hiei quelled him again with a look. And under the urging of their smallish gray leader, the oni huddled back, well out of the way of the impending battle.

"I don't need a sword for the likes of you," Hiei informed Old Dragon. "Just my bare hands alone will be enough."

"Had yer say?"

"My fists can do the talking."

"Whine all y'want. You'll be just as dead."

Hiei clenched his fists and stalked toward Old Dragon.

But Old Dragon merely laughed. "Call yerself a fire demon?"

"I'm more fire demon than you'll ever be."

"How's yer slut enjoying her dead Dragon?"

"Watch your mouth," warned Urameshi, but Old Dragon smirked, while the oni remained oddly silent.

On the silver sword of moonlight, Hiei stopped, not ten feet from his nemesis.

Old Dragon's eyes glinted in malevolent glee. "Shakin' in yer boots, are ya?"

"Just eager for battle."

"If ya give up now, I promise a clean death."

"There's nothing clean about you."

"Wait, did I say one dead Dragon?" Old Dragon shook his head. "Make that two. Yours is gone. Ya got nothin'!"

"I'll have your head in a minute."

With the triumphant sneer of someone flinging down a trump card, Old Dragon retorted, "How's yer fifteen minutes of fame been treatin' ya?"

At last, the oni reacted: "Ooo!" squealed the ochre, clasping its claws under its chin. "My fave boy band!" The red added, "I'm gonna swoon!" "Gimme an autograph," begged the blue.

"What do you mean?" The words tumbled out before Hiei could bite them back.

"Lookit us," mocked Old Dragon, in a high, mincing voice. "_We're soo talented! We made a CD!_" He stopped, skewering Hiei with a venomous grin. "Yeah, funny how a coupla calls to the money men can move mountains, make 'em hire anyone ya want."

"Romantic Soldier?" Urameshi flung the demon lord a look of shock. "You mean all that was your doing?"

"You bet." Old Dragon's smile was pure malice. "All that 'n' more. But no one wants ya now, do they?"

Hiei was scarcely able to breathe. The redshirts saw his reaction, knew the arrow had hit its mark, roared with laughter. "P-poor me," sniffled the blue oni, as the others hummed the tune to _Chasing the Dragon_. "I'm lookin' for my _D-daddy_!"

The depth of the cut stunned Hiei. Mere words should not be able to do such a thing to him.

But--despite his sneers and protests, Hiei had been so caught up in the dazzle of recordings, movie-making, so--

So happy.

_Fake? All of it, fake_?

"I gave that to ya," Old Dragon gloated. "Every bit. Now I'm takin' it all away."

Hiei's throat worked. What sort of person was this demon? Who would be capable of mounting such a grandiose scheme? Setting up Hiei's meteoric rise, merely to enjoy knocking him down again--

Urameshi's muttered curses slid past him.

_Idiot. Jumping around in front of a mirror like a jackrabbit, thinking you were something to see. All a set-up. _

The laughter reached a thunderous crescendo.

Hiei ground his teeth. A small part of him had known it was all too good to be true. He watched Old Dragon and his thugs enjoy themselves at his expense. The silver sword of moonlight where he stood cast his own shadow, long and ominous.

And he took the pain, the humiliation, the grief, gathered it into a cold knot in his heart, and flung it away.

Flung it away because this demon had been toying with him since a year ago--spied on him, poisoned him twice, murdered his friends, invaded his home, and Hiei had done nothing to stop him.

The hour was at hand. Do-or-die time, when you discover if you are made of the right stuff or stitched together from cowardice and excuses.

Forget Romantic Soldier. Forget the D-class bonebreakers. This was Hiei and Old Dragon and no one else.

Old Dragon shook his head, folded his arms, then cut his gaze to the side.

Something about that familiar gesture, so very like his own, arising from the squat form, stopped Hiei. But--

_No! I cannot think of him as my father!_

His attack in the cave had failed, but that was a week ago, fresh off the poisoning that should have killed him. A week's recovery was not enough time but it would have to do.

_Then why hesitate? Because he's my father?_

Yes. The name of the father: Hiei's own new role as parent. The longing to make that same connection with this creature on some gut level. Searching for his father since the break in the barrier between worlds.

_'Well, ya found me!'_

_Not exactly who you hoped to find. Still. Your father--_

Old Dragon's voice shattered Hiei's reverie: "Too bad yer bitch recovered." He winked. "Next time I do 'er, she won't--if y' get me."

That one crude remark settled it. With a speed no other _youkai_ could match, Hiei hurled himself toward Old Dragon and snaked out his right arm, locking the hand around his father's thick neck, leaving him no time to react.

Old Dragon's eyes flew wide with shock.

Gray yelled. Carlos shouted. The oni came on in a rush, but Urameshi aimed his Rei-gun, warning them off.

"I'll vaporize the lot of you--your Boss included!"

"He can do it, too!" Carlos jerked his head at the oni. "Back off!" And as the oni reluctantly obeyed, Carlos dashed from the warehouse.

Hiei could not spare a thought for the human's cowardice as he closed his other hand around his father's neck. The demon lord struggled to wrench free, his weight pulling them both all around the warehouse floor, but Hiei held fast.

Old Dragon's eyes were hard to read, obsidian from lid to lid, nothing but flat black. But the skin of his face was turning color, first beet-red, then purplish, the slick, rubbery neck-flesh already bruising beneath Hiei's fingers. "No-- s-stop-- what're y'doin--"

"I won't be satisfied till I snap your neck!" Hiei squeezed harder. Old Dragon's eyes bulged. His claws slashed at Hiei's face, opening wounds he disdained to notice; the enemy's booted feet kicked, a knee buried itself in Hiei's gut, but still he hung on. His fingers were iron on the old man's windpipe. In his mind a silent chant, a mantra: _You won't hurt my kids you won't hurt my kids you won't hurt my kids--_

Behind him, Urameshi was shouting. "Hiei, move! I got a bead on him!"

_No_, Hiei answered silently, _He's mine. My battle. My kill._

Urameshi would just have to shoot through him.

Outside, the throaty roar of an engine, gunning. Stumbling around the warehouse floor, still attached to the demon lord, Hiei ignored the sound, his fingers digging into the purpled flesh of Old Dragon's sweat-slimed throat. Old Dragon's breath was coming in weakened, raveled gasps, the black eyes rolling up, still black, un-nerving.

"Move, move, MOVE!" The shout drew a flicker of Hiei's attention. From the tail of his eye he spotted the gray oni, chivvying his thugs toward the back of the warehouse.

Good. Let them run out on their "king."

In the sword of moonlight, Old Dragon appeared done for. Hiei hung on. A whoosh of foul air escaped the demon's lips. His clawing hands fell limp. Old Dragon's eyes closed.

Hiei squeezed harder. Not merely to choke the life from his father, but to crush the larynx, still the grating voice forever, snap the fat, vile neck.

"Fool!" Old Dragon's eyes jerked open. His mouth spread in a yellow-fanged grin of sheer triumph. "Didja think ya could defeat me with just this?"

The slit of his Jagan opened. The Eye flared green.

The force of its wave slammed Hiei back into the wall. He smashed into a crate, splintering wood, shattering a rib.

As Urameshi ran toward him shouting, Hiei struggled to his feet, but a thorn of pain pierced him. He glanced down to see a jagged slat protruding from his side. Snarling defiance, he yanked it free. A gout of his blood plumed through the air, splashed down, stained the ground.

No longer mocking, but truly enraged, Hiei's father took a stance near the open door, a squat, threatening figure backlit by the moon. "Nice try, but yer best ain't good enough."

Dizzy from battle-effort, Hiei sagged.

"I was only playin' ya before, but now you'll pay fer real, thief! Y'gonna pay fer stealin' her!"

"Stealing who?" Waving Urameshi back, Hiei pressed a hand to his side to stem the bleeding.

"She was mine," Old Dragon ground out. "Hina."

_Hina! My mother?_ Hiei could sense Urameshi's confusion. It was no less than his own. "W-what are you talking about?"

"She was mine. Shoulda killed ya long ago."

"Yes." Rallying somewhat, Hiei shot back, "You might have stood a chance then--against an infant."

"She'd be alive if not fer you!"

The exhausting skirmish, the blood loss, the shock--Hiei sank to one knee. "You're insane," he whispered. He had suspected it before, but now it was clear. "I didn't kill her!"

"Y'took her from me." Old Dragon turned his head as though the sight of Hiei pained him. "You an' that other one. That little girl. When I came back to get Hina--" His clawed hands twitched. "Gone. Yer own mis'rable life ain't payment enough fer that--yer sister's gonna pay, too."

"No! Leave Yukina alone!" Lurching to his feet, Hiei dodged Urameshi and again hurled himself toward Old Dragon.

Old Dragon lifted his head, cried out in a hoarse voice, a language Hiei did not understand.

From the shadows, the water-dancers responded. Their little faces twisted in terror as they ran in a shrilling wave toward the demon who perhaps was indeed their king.

But kings were supposed to protect their subjects, not use them as shields.

Hiei stopped. "Move it!" he snarled at them, but they bounded around their lord, who twisted and dodged and ducked for all his thickness, keeping the pixies between himself and Hiei.

"Weakling! Ye're ten steps too slow!"

Urameshi ran, skidded up to stand at Hiei's shoulder, aiming his Rei-gun at Old Dragon.

"Move!" He echoed Hiei's warning to the water-dancers.

"Yer best ain't good enough, kid! Never gonna be!" Old Dragon raised his hand, palm-down, almost as if in salute. Flames blossomed in his fingers. "Take this, y'lousy thief!"

_That stance!_

Old Dragon roared. "Imperial Fire Wave!"

Knowing what was at stake, Hiei barely had time to kick Urameshi's legs from under him and curl himself around the other boy before a sheet of scorching flame enveloped them both.

0-0-0-0-0

The warehouse was dark now, and relatively quiet.

The Boss had burnt all the water dancers. The air smelled of roast flesh.

Huddled high on the catwalk unseen, the little broken-nosed jaki whimpered in fear.

He forced himself to let go of the metal struts of the catwalk, forced himself to clamber down to the warehouse floor.

The Boss had fled. The Boss could not hurt him now.

But it was too late for the water dancers. They lay together in a flaked, charred heap, glistening from the leached fat that pooled beneath their lifeless bodies.

Nothing but meat.

The little jaki shuddered. No. He would not eat them. Nor did he quite understand why this now seemed repellent to him.

Edging away from the dead, he began to cast about the warehouse for something of value.

0-0-0-0-0

The fire was gone, but the stench of burnt bodies remained.

Somehow, Hiei and Urameshi had gotten themselves up and hammered into the street after Old Dragon.

Too late. The enemy had escaped.

But Hiei thought he heard the persistent sound of a full-throated engine, receding.

He had managed to catch the brunt of the flames. He was, after all, a fire demon. As was his father.

Urameshi stood at his side, ready to fight again, relatively untouched, both and fierce and persistent. The right leg of his jeans bore scorch marks, and his left sneaker was sooty. Hiei, having taken the hit to his back, was less fortunate.

In the harbor, moonlight purled the waves. The growl of the big motor was amplified by the echo of water.

"Listen!" Urameshi cocked his head. "Wait--there!"

Far away by now, a panel truck's tail lights receded down the blacktop lane between the warehouses. "Dammit, it's them! Come on!" He ran toward the truck.

But Hiei did not follow. He gazed out at the silvered water. Stopping, Urameshi turned back, rejoined him, silent now, waiting with a look of expectant curiosity.

"When I saw him," Hiei began, "he was always wreathed in cool fires. And he said he was sorry, and tried to touch me."

"You know that demon?" Urameshi's features registered shock. "You've met him before now?"

"No." A pained smile licked across Hiei's lips. "That was just in my dreams." He took a step, wobbled a bit, stopped. "I met him for real in the cave near Genkai's. When he abducted me. It all came back when I saw him tonight."

The moon continued to silver-plate the harbor, unimpressed. The harbor itself smelled of salted water and rotten egg, and a damp breeze revealed to Hiei just exactly how much clothing he had lost to Old Dragon's flame. He felt drained, disappointed. _Old Dragon was right. My best wasn't good enough_.

He had not been willing to kill the water sprites to get to his father, but they were just as dead as if he had. He loathed himself for his own weakness.

At his side, Urameshi stirred. "Some coincidence, you and the old man both having the Eye."

Hiei shrugged.

"We'll get him before long," Urameshi assured him. Hiei glanced at the boy. He knew that Urameshi possessed more grit and more experience than men twice his age, but just now, with his fists clenched and his eager face turned to the street, he seemed far too young.

This boy had enabled Hiei to see the traitorous Seiryuu as though seeing himself. It brought his own worst traits into such a blazing light, they could no longer be ignored. Hiei wanted to tell him: _I'm in your debt for that--but we won't always fight side-by-side. Your life will change. You'll marry Keiko and have kids and that will become your priority_.

But all he said was, "My ass is showing. Is my ass showing?"

Urameshi grimaced. "Oh, no. I'm not falling for that old trick."

Hiei began hobbling away from Warehouse Number Four. "Seriously. I can feel it flapping in the breeze."

"You're not gonna talk me into looking at your ass."

Hiei was laughing now, though it hurt his broken rib. "Ch. Give me what's left of your jacket."

"Fine, you big baby. Go ahead and pretty yourself up just like a girl. I'm gonna get us a cab." While Urameshi ran ahead, Hiei tied the jacket around his waist, then followed as best he could, limping down the corridor of warehouses.

Hiei wondered where the helicopter was. In his dreams, it had always been there, always been a threat.

Dreams were dreams. His father was not a tall, thoughtful Stranger with long black hair and calm turquoise eyes. His father was a crazy monster who wanted to kill him.

He caught up with Urameshi near the main road, where the cab awaited. Urameshi held the door open while he eased inside. But in the cab, Hiei couldn't find a comfortable position. His seared back and thighs and seat kept him shifting about.

"S'matter?" Urameshi turned fierce, hunter's eyes on him, then laughed. "Need a fluffy pillow?"

Hiei gave a grim smile. "Back then, after my battle against the Shapeshifter, I told you I needed a better arsenal."

"So?"

"You heard the old man. I need to be ten steps faster and twenty pounds meaner."

"Not you. You're tough as they come. When you're not primping like a girl."

Hiei informed Urameshi exactly where to bite him.

He snorted. "We'll get him, though. Bring him to justice. That's a promise."

Hiei shook his head. "You really are an amazing bastard."

"On behalf of bastards everywhere, I thank you."

The cab pulled away. Hiei thought he could still hear the wavering roar of a helicopter that had never been.

"You know he won't stop." _Taunting us at every turn. Had him in my grasp. He got away again._ "He'll keep at it, keep coming at me over and over, until he finishes me."

Urameshi said nothing.

"He killed Lermontov and Kenji. Kidnaped Keiko and Shay-san. Broke into my house twice. Took Kurama. It's only a matter of time until he takes my kids."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Kill him."

"Hiei..." Urameshi turned liquid, worried eyes to him. "Your own father--"

"Yuusuke. _I'm_ my kids' father. That one--" He jerked his head in the direction of Warehouse Four. "He's a gene donor."

They rode awhile in silence, leaving the harbor district. Hiei slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Listen," he pressed, trying to broach the subject again, tell the kid that he was older, that he knew better, that life changed, that Urameshi wouldn't always be there to fight the same fights as Hiei.

_Really? And look at you: wife and two kids, and you're still running around, battling the Lord of the Flies. It's just as Father Brian said: The Sword of Heaven never rests_.

Urameshi turned to him, one eyebrow aloft. "What?"

Hiei sighed, curled the faintest of grins Urameshi's way. "Nothing. I think my ass is still showing."

"Oh, no." Urameshi folded his arms, settled back into the cab. "You ain't getting me to fall for that old trick. Not twice in a row."

(To be continued: The enemy's escaped, but the battle's far from over.)

-30-


	42. FS C41: The Safe Room

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C41: The Safe Room

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: After the battle, all Hiei wants is a bit of rest.

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for staying with this story so far. Accompanying character sketches can be viewed on my LJ homepage. Please review!

"Of everyone, I trust you the most."

Firebird Sweet C41: The Safe Room (Endgame, Part Five)

by

Kenshin

As Carlos pulled away from the warehouse, shouts from the oni in the truck buffeted his ears: ripe with panic, bloodlust, and despair--a weight so palpable he could almost taste it.

Acrid though it was, Carlos did not flinch.

As a wheel man, he excelled. His unflappable nature in the face of opposing fire was one reason he had risen so quickly among the ranks of redshirts--and from the first time he had taken the wheel of an ancient Chevy at the age of ten, he knew he had found his calling.

The moon was briefly obscured by a passing cloud.

_It all ends tonight. Spain, here I come._

Riding shotgun, Fukuoka flicked a nervous glance into the back of the panel truck, where the Boss lay on the floor, redshirts covering him as though he were a presidential figure fleeing an assassination attempt.

"Does it seem ironic to you," the gray oni spoke sotto voce, "that _we're_ the ones running away? That kid--the target--"

Just at the moment, their escape didn't seem all that ironic, but skin-of-the-teeth lucky. All Carlos said was, "Keep an eye on the rear-view mirror, would you?" He drove quickly, though not at breakneck speed, and not erratically. The last thing they needed before reaching the factory's safe haven was to be pulled over by some gung-ho cop.

0-0-0-0-0

All Hiei wanted was a couple of hours rest--and a new pair of pants.

Urameshi had reluctantly agreed to let Hiei use his jacket a while longer, but underneath that layer of protection, Hiei was still flapping in the breeze.

The house was dark, and there was no sign of either the idiot or his sister as Hiei painfully climbed the stairs.

There were ways to find Old Dragon, and high time they used some. Jaki could work both ways. And panel trucks had license plates. Old Dragon was history. _Just as soon as I lie down for a minute_.

Quietly, Hiei opened the bedroom door, longing for even an hour's sleep. Shay-san might still be with Kurama and Shiori.

She was not. Nor was she alone.

Instead, she was bundling the twins into their stroller, and looked up, startled. "Your face! What hap--"

"I'm fine."

"Did you defeat--"

"They got away."

"Oh, God." She bit a knuckle. "I was praying you'd return before now." Hiei's firebird was clad in sweat pants and a zippered sweat jacket, and--a jaki, sitting on her shoulder.

Hiei scowled. It was the one Shay-san had 'adopted,' with its rufous tuft of hair like a Mohawk gone wrong, and broken nose. "What the hell is that thing doing here?"

"I have a name now," it squeaked proudly. "Squirrel!"

Shay-san spared him another glance as she yanked a green backpack from the closet. "He came looking for a handout."

Dropping the jacket, Hiei rummaged in a drawer for a pair of jeans. "Where are you taking the kids this time of night?"

"T-to Father Brian." With fumbling hands, she grabbed a stuffed bunny off the bed, examined it, and shoved it into the backpack. He noticed that her nails were unpolished, and clipped short. 'Working hands,' she called them.

"Father Brian?" Yanking on the jeans, Hiei winced when the coarse fabric scraped over his burnt skin. He reached for a fresh pair of socks. "What's he got to do with--"

Tears sparked her eyes. "I won't let him hurt my kids!"

It was a testament to the past few hours that Hiei did not have to ask who 'he' was.

"Even if--even if we don't--make it--they'll be--"

"We'll make it," Hiei replied, automatically. "Calm down and tell me what's going on. And get that thing out of here." He jerked his head to indicate the creature that, all this while, had clung to her shoulder, contentedly chewing rice crackers.

"He's not going anywhere." Shay-san ran a hand over her nose, sniffling. "He's the one who warned me--they're going after Yukina."

Hiei sucked in a breath. _Old Dragon's threat in the warehouse!_ He leveled a crimson glare at the jaki. "And how does it know this?"

"They talk about the ice maiden a lot," it said, around a mouthful of cracker. "About getting her."

"She's away," Hiei said automatically, but he remembered the rack of surveillance equipment back at the warehouse. "Somewhere no one can find her."

"That demon can find anyone. He has a network of spies all over the city. I was one of them."

"'That demon?'" Hiei repeated. "The one with--"

"The one they call The Boss."

When they had first encountered this jaki outside the Hotel Carrot, it had been completely unable to name its employer. "How is it you can tell me his name now?"

From its perch upon Shay-san's shoulder, it gave a very human shrug.

"And he had this for me." Shay-san reached into her pocket for a black plastic device and handed it to Hiei. "Awfully heavy thing for a little guy like him to carry all the way here."

_Little guy_? Hiei's eyebrows said. The device was light in his hand and about the size of a TV remote control.

But it was not a TV remote. There was only one button--a white one, dead center in the black plastic.

Hiei looked up. "A detonator?"

"The enemy has plastic explosives. Squirrel told me. More than enough to blow up the place where--" She hesitated. "The place with Ibuki and your sister in it--not to mention all those innocent nuns and monks."

"Hokkaidou's nearly 500 miles away. We can beat them to it."

"No." It was the jaki that answered, not Shay-san. "They have a big loud thing that flies really fast."

"A plane?" she wondered.

A sick sensation of _deja-vu_ swooped in Hiei's gut. "Not a plane. A helicopter."

"One of those things," the jaki agreed.

Hiei shot a dubious glance at the detonator. "Can this contraption really destroy the whole monastery?"

"With that much plastic on the other end?" Shay-san's face looked pale, and pinched with fatigue. "You bet."

Brandishing the detonator, Hiei addressed the jaki. "Where did you find this?"

"The warehouse."

"Are the explosives still there?"

It nodded. "I couldn't get at them. They're locked up in the supply closet. In a big heavy case." Its hands sketched the air, indicating size.

"They'll have to return to the warehouse," Shay-san said.

Hiei weighed the detonator in his hand. "We could set the plastic off now--and maybe take Old Dragon with it."

"No!" she protested. "We don't know its range, or whether there are innocent bystanders."

"But we do have the detonator," Hiei repeated. "And even I know that plastic has to be set off electronically."

"You have the spare," said the jaki again, in its piping child's voice. "They have another one in that case."

From the stroller near the bed, Michael looked up, his soft baby brow furrowing with concern. Even CeeCee, picking up on the distress of her mother, began to whimper.

Shay-san broke down again. "They'll have a g-good life if we don't-- Aunt Carmel and Uncle Paul will see to that--and then there's Kaasan and Hatanaka-san--"

"We'll make it." Hiei went to the door. "Blow your nose."

"I won't let them hurt my kids!" Nevertheless she found a tissue, dabbed at her eyes, wiped her nose. "I won't let them hurt my kids. And we don't have much time."

As Hiei headed out, tension strung her voice high again. Her cry rang indecently loud in the dark, quiet house. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen--to get him a bentou box." Pausing, Hiei glanced behind him at the tiny creature seated on his wife's shoulder. "Good little Squirrel," he told it.

0-0-0-0-0

"Where's th' plastic?" demanded the Boss.

They had reached the safety of the abandoned doll factory, the Boss stumping by Carlos' side like a wind-up toy powered by malice. Glass crunched underfoot as they proceeded through the dim interior. Carlos recalled that this fire-damaged hulk had once had a reputation as a demon hangout--and now it was again.

Broken-out windows oblong pools of moonlight to streak the blackened walls and floor, but they could not dispel the lingering stink of burnt cellulose and wire.

By some form of silent agreement, they came to a halt. Striped by shadow and light, the oni huddled near a window, as if this atmosphere of decay was too much even for them.

"Where's th' plastic?" repeated the Boss.

"Back in the warehouse." Turning to face his employer, Fukuoka spoke quietly, flinching, expecting a blow.

And the Boss was seething, Carlos noted. _Twice he's engaged the 'target' face-to-face. Twice we had to save his sorry ass_. He turned to face his employer as well, hoping he could read lips in the meager light. "We could hardly keep it in the truck--too dangerous. And there was no time to pick it up."

"WHERE IS--"

"Still in the attache case, in the supply closet, locked up!" The gray oni was shaking.

"We can retrieve it," Carlos interjected. "Easily done."

"Yeah? An' if they beat us to it?" When enraged like this, the Boss resembled the target least of all. Without waiting for an answer, he stabbed at the oni with a clawed forefinger, pointing out each one in turn. "You-- you-- an' you--!" Red, Ochre, and Blue, they straightened, faced the Boss.

"You find an' kill his kids," the Boss ordered.

"I'm no fighter," said Fuku. "You know that."

"Yeah." The Boss raked him with a scornful glare. "Don't I know it. That human can go in yer place. That Azuma Ken."

Fuku took a breath, stepped away from the others. The air sang with an urgency and tension, stemming from the demon's violent resolve. Such single-minded purpose could lead either to swift victory--or veer into chaos and defeat.

"Boss, no!" protested the blue oni. "The target's strong!"

"You saw him!" echoed Ochre. "He moved like lightning!"

The red oni's voice shook. "The way he so easily killed--"

"Boss, please." Blue stretched its claws out, begging.

"I got spies followin' th' target." The Boss folded his arms. "The second there's a chance--"

Though clearly terrified, Fuku stepped into the Boss' line of sight again, interceding on behalf of his reluctant crew. "When we retrieve the plastic," he said, "I think it would be wiser to use it to return to _Makai_."

"Please," repeated Blue. "I wanna go home."

"Shuddup!" The Boss's Eye flared open. He raked the oni with a beam of power. Fuku turned away, covering his eyes. Blue cried out, then fell silent, his body curiously slack, arms loose at his sides. Red and Ochre echoed his compliant posture.

Carlos edged sidewise to stand with Fuku. He had to remind himself that the Boss could not hear glass crunching underfoot.

The Boss stalked toward Fuku. Carlos tensed, ready for battle to break out, oni against Boss.

"Get this straight!" The demon lord poked Fuku's chest, punctuating his words. "I give the orders around here. Not you. And I ain't gonna waste no plastic on no Barrier hole." He bared his yellowed fangs in a triumphant grin. "I'm gonna fly it t' their hidey-hole an' blow that singer an' the ice maiden straight t' Hell."

0-0-0-0-0

In the realm of the dead lies a sanctuary for the living.

The cemetery is situated to the rear of the church, a smallish sanctuary bordered by a low wall of red masonry, with a black wrought-iron gate at the entrance.

Pleasantly landscaped with trees and bushes, the grounds offer stone benches for the weary, with headstones arrayed on well-trimmed lawns, serviced by blacktop paths laid out in the shape of a cross. A big Crucifix stands at the converging points of the four arms of the cross. At night, moon and lamplight both paint the ground with long, inky shadows.

Against the back wall, two small buildings nestle in opposite corners. One is the tiny, unassuming chapel, large enough only for a few pews and the altar. The other, which lies to the right as one enters the iron gates, is even smaller.

White marble sides glinting in the moonlight, its silhouette is softened by the bushes surrounding it, and those very bushes act as wards. To either side of its entrance, iron lamp-posts stand guard. The structure is somewhat shorter inside than out, for those inclined to notice such dimensions. On the far wall, disguised among marble blocks, is the false door.

Only three people in the parish know of the Safe Room's existence. It is protected by numerous safeguards against demonic intrusion; some say the bones of a great Saint are buried there.

For the initiated to enter, an elaborate series of signs and countersigns must be memorized, and these change daily.

And although Hiei was the one demon in ten thousand unscathed by Holy Water or the Rosary, the Safe Room had other layers of protection which Father Brian would not reveal.

He led them into the mausoleum, Shay-san clutching the twins and the stroller, her glimmering gumdrop eyes catching the light even in this gloom.

"I doubt even you could set foot in that room, kiddo," the priest told Hiei, his dangerous black eyes raking Hiei up and down as they stood inside the mausoleum door. "You're still a demon, born in _Makai_, and this room was designed to keep demons out. Couldn't hide Yukina in here, not even temporarily, before we moved her to the monastery in Hokkaidou--sure an' it was too painful for the sweet lass to bear."

"I have to attempt it," said Hiei. "Both my children are half-demon. If I can't stand it, how do I know they can?"

In the face of an enormous need to hurry, to stop Old Dragon from flying to Hokkaidou and murdering Yukina, they must also see to the safety of the twins, who merely looked sleepy and confused. "Be ready to pull them out at the first sign of distress," pleaded Shay-san. The faint light made a halo round her hair like an angel's, as she went to stand outside.

Father Brian first made Hiei face the other way, then called out that it was all right. Hiei turned. A panel lay open to a narrow flight of stairs leading down a dim, stone-lined corridor. Crossing its threshold, Hiei felt the merest tingle. Father Brian carried both twins down in their stroller. But as Hiei descended the flight of stone stairs, the burning began for real.

The priest led Hiei to another door that opened onto a surprisingly pleasant room, finished as any other basement might be, except that it held enough cots to sleep ten or more. There was muted lighting, desks, chairs--even a kitchenette. Father had said there was also a washroom tucked away somewhere. As a hiding place for the living, it had its comforts.

One of the women from the parish--_Rosa_, Hiei remembered the name--was there. Her pleasant, middle-aged face brightened when she saw the babies.

Father Brian set the stroller down near Rosa. Hiei took a few steps into the room. The burning rose, like fire ants crawling up and down his arms, his legs, his face.

But Michael and Cecilia both seemed fine, the girl cooing and patting her hands in the air, the boy watchful but now serene, his earlier distress vanished.

Father Brian lifted CeeCee, bouncing her in his arms. "Oh, my, and aren't you the prettiest little colleen? Just like your Mommy you are!" Michael gazed intently at the elaborate Maltese cross pinned to the shoulder of Rosa's dark blue sweater.

But Hiei's suffering increased. The Safe Room's layers of protection caused the burning on his skin to bore deeper, into his physical core, setting off vibrations of nausea in his gut.

Why now? He stood Holy Water well enough to use it at will, wore the Blessed Rosary with no ill effect whatever. Was it just because he was weak from the lingering symptoms of Two-Hearts poison, or depleted from his brief battle with Old Dragon?

Or were the more powerful, hidden wards aiming themselves at him, crying out, "**Demon, begone!**"

CeeCee laughed and made a grab for the priest's nose. Father Brian let her latch onto it, glancing at Hiei.

"I'm fine." Hiei was far from fine, but he had to stand it for the sake of his twins. "I've got to see if _they_ are." Minutes crawled by; Hiei eyed one of the chairs with longing.

Hiei had fought countless battles over the course of his brief lifetime, but although his broken rib was taped, and the scorch-marks from Old Dragon's attack fading--

_Damn_. Breaking out in a cold sweat, Hiei groped for a chair. A glance at Rosa and Father Brian, who held the twins, revealed that his children were utterly unaffected.

_Thank God_.

"Come on, son," the priest urged, placing Cecilia back in the stroller. "Sure an' the kids don't have a care in the world. Best be on your way."

Stubbornly, Hiei knelt by the stroller, and held a soft little hand in each of his: son's and daughter's. He smiled at them. _I'm so afraid this is good-bye for ever_.

But his voice was steady as he spoke: "You'll be okay if Daddy goes away for a while. You'll let this nice lady take care of you."

CeeCee burbled with glee, as though this was the best game anyone had ever invented in the history of the world. Michael watched him with tranquil gray eyes; never as demonstrative as his sister, he suddenly reached out a fat baby hand to touch his father's face. "I take that as a yes," Hiei told them.

But when he tried to rise, his legs simply refused to obey. He opened his mouth to tell the priest. Nothing emerged but a gasping hiss of air.

Yet Hiei still found the strength to turn his head away from the twins, so they would not witness his distress.

"Kiddo," Father Brian knelt by his side. "Sure an' you're the toughest little pissant I ever laid eyes on."

It was the last thing Hiei heard.

0-0-0-0-0

Licking the last of the crumbs from his fingers, Squirrel crouched on the roof of the Kuwabara residence, scanning the streets for sign of friend or foe alike.

0-0-0-0-0

_Hokkaidou_, thought Carlos, readying the chopper. And how he yearned to let the Robbie stretch its legs! The Boss had assured Carlos that all he needed to do was fly the ship, and land at the monastery. 'I'll help y'escape, then we detonate from a safe distance.' _Safe? I hope so. Lots of monks and nuns. I'd prefer those murders can't be traced back to me_.

0-0-0-0-0

When Hiei opened his eyes, he lay on hallowed ground, with the idiot staring down at him.

"You?" Hiei muttered, levering himself up on one elbow. "I must be dead. And in Hell."

"Quit slackin' off." Grabbing Hiei by the wrist, Kuwabara yanked him to his feet with ease.

Hiei needed a moment to collect himself; his visit to the Safe Room had robbed him of more precious strength. "What are you doing here?"

"Saw the priest drag you outta that mausoleum. What, you dabbled in a little grave-robbery and he hadda clock you?"

"It's like Sherlock Holmes never died." Hiei glanced around. Shay-san and Father Brian stood close by, peering worriedly at him.

"Kids okay?" Hiei inquired.

She gave a weak smile. "The kids are fine."

"When we left, Rosa was readin' _The Cat In The Hat_ to 'em." The priest grimaced at Kuwabara. "But now that kid knows--"

"I'll take care of it," Hiei said. Jerking his head, Hiei indicated a lamp-lit bench a little distance away, and wobbled over to it, Kuwabara on his heels. He thumped down on its cool stone surface. "How did you find us?"

Kuwabara shrugged. "A little birdie told me."

"Let me guess. A little gray birdie with a broken nose and hair like a Mohawk."

Kuwabara scanned the cemetery, glancing over Hiei's head at the false mausoleum. "Shorty--what's goin' on here?"

Hiei hesitated. But the hour was late, the final conflict at hand, and nothing less than the truth would serve. He told Kuwabara of the Safe Room, of their need to protect their kids, then added, "The enemy's after Yukina, too."

Kuwabara bared his teeth. "Coward! Worm! I oughta--"

"You have every right to insist on a part in this fight," Hiei said. "But--I want you to remain behind."

"Why?" Light touched the strong planes of Kuwabara's face.

This was difficult for Hiei to say. Not only was he pressed for time, but what he wanted would mean the loss, however temporary, of a valuable ally.

Not looking Kuwabara in the eye, Hiei forced the words from his mouth. "Of everyone, you're the one I trust the most."

Kuwabara gave a little grunt that sounded like surprise.

"The one I called on back then to protect my firebird from White Sands Serpent," Hiei continued doggedly. "The one who always manages to get between her and danger." His mouth twitched in a painful grin. "Champion of love and justice."

Kuwabara glanced down, a faint flush coloring his pale skin.

"I'll deal with Old Dragon," Hiei continued. "Just don't let anything happen to my kids."

Kuwabara's eyes narrowed, as though weighing his desire to save Yukina over the duty to protect two lives even more helpless. _Time!_ thought Hiei; _time's eating us up._ Somewhere out in the bushes, a night bird called.

"Okay, Shorty." Kuwabara nodded. "I got your back."

An exquisite flood of relief made Hiei shut his eyes.

"We'd better get to the harbor," Shay-san urged.

But Father Brian drew Hiei aside for a moment, and Hiei, impatient, waited for the priest to speak.

He did not wait long.

"Ahh, lad!" The priest shook his head sorrowfully, studying Hiei. "Your own father! Flesh of his flesh. 'Tis a hard thing to do."

"Aren't you the one who told me Rome's sword never rests?"

"I can sense how tapped out you are." Father Brian's pit-bull features softened. "Remember what the little lady said--"

"Don't you think I know what Genkai said about my condition?" Hiei snapped. That to use his aura again when it was so dangerously low would risk his life-- "But I can't lose! My kids are more important than I am! The threat won't stop until he's gone, father or no father."

"Oh, kiddo. Talk about your rocks an' hard places."

Hiei flicked a glance at Shay-san, standing now with Kuwabara near the Crucifix.

Under the pitiless moon, Father Brian's fierce black eyes turned liquid. For a moment, Hiei feared the priest would burst into tears, but his mouth crimped down and a look of resignation claimed him. "God be with you, son."

There was nothing further to say. Hiei herded Shay-san toward the street and the waiting taxi. They still had one crucial stop before engaging the enemy.

0-0-0-0-0

While the enthralled oni stood waiting in a corner, Carlos crossed the factory floor and approached Fukuoka.

The dun-brown jaki had just reported in. They'd found the location of the children. Azuma Ken, surprisingly enough, had managed to rat the target out to the Yukimura girl without gutting her. Maybe the Urameshi boy would have his hands full calming her down, thus taking himself out of the picture, or maybe the whole scenario simply caused the target pain. In any case, Azuma had been informed of a newer, more deadly assignment.

First, a stop to retrieve the explosives. Then--

It would all be over soon.

(To Be Continued: "He's getting away!")

-30-


	43. FS C42: Losing Shiori

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C42: Losing Shiori

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: The more you gain, the more you have to lose

A/N: I fear that I may now require some time off my regular weekly update schedule, to work on the Final Four (chapters, that is). Or who knows--a burst of energy might come my way, though I am badly in need of some squee right now. You can view accompanying character sketches on my LJ homepage. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"Why can't I talk to Kurama?"

Firebird Sweet C42: Losing Shiori (Endgame, Part Six)

by

Kenshin

For much of the journey to destroy the monastery in Hokkaidou, Carlos would need to run without the ship's lights. However, conditions were perfect for flying, even without them. The night was still, and the moon provided illumination in plenty for someone used to furtive missions.

Now Carlos risked touching down outside the warehouse. Though they enjoyed the cover of darkness, the Robbie did make a fair bit of noise. And the longer they lingered in the open--

At his side, the Boss fumed in murderous silence. Jammed between them, Fukuoka, sweating bullets.

Never mind that their destination lay beyond the Robbie's ability to fly without refueling. Never mind that there were three of them, the gray oni included, in a ship meant to fly only two. When the Boss got like that, you listened and obeyed, or you got just as dead as the target's sister was about to be.

0-0-0-0-0

Father Brian had been correct. The sword of Rome never rests--not even when he needs to.

And in spite of Hiei's bold assertions to the contrary, he was in no shape for battle. He sat in the back of the taxi, detonator in his pocket, Shay-san at his side, and a growing conviction that the entire set-up was wrong, all wrong, that this fight would not go well.

This was hardly the same as a tournament, with you and your opponent contained in an arena where he could neither hide nor flee, or a one-on-one in any setting, where it was kill or be killed. This enemy struck from the shadows, did his damage, then retreated, hidden and waiting like a poisonous spider.

The enemy may have been flushed out, but the damage was done. Hiei was still stinging from the hidden devices that protected the Safe Room from demons, still suffering from a broken rib and demonic burns, still sick from the effects of Two-Hearts, still unable to use his Dragon, unable to attain a spare katana at this late hour.

Soft. Grown too soft from peaceful living, too soft from playing footsie with stardom. And the enemy--your father, Hiei reminded himself--despite what Kurama had assured him, was powerful and ruthless.

Keiko, while not a fighter, had been a friend, an ally. Rightly or wrongly, she had turned against him. And Urameshi Yuusuke, who had promised to fight at Hiei's side, was off somewhere even now, 'dealing' with Keiko.

Kuwabara was at his post, Kurama injured. _I'm on my own_.

Admittedly, Hiei had a poor arsenal at his disposal just now. He might be able to summon the energy to use earthly fires. He might be able to throw a punch or two. Somehow.

But at least his babies were safe.

Now he had to call on Kurama, not for his abilities in battle, but for his intellect, for the vital information he might have gleaned during his brief captivity.

To the Minamino residence, with the clock ticking, ticking.

0-0-0-0-0

Glancing nervously around the warehouse, Carlos found that the Boss' mood was rubbing off on him--as was Fuku's.

The three of them had badly overloaded the Robbie, but the Boss did not weigh much, Fuku was small for his kind, and Carlos was lighter than he had been in years.

Carlos had done a satisfying and tricky bit of piloting, depositing them neatly in front of the warehouse. Years of accomplishing dust-offs had prepared him for this. Whatever the Boss demanded, he would be capable of performing.

They had entered through the back door in the office, and the place smelled nauseatingly of charred flesh. Fukuoka, his hands shaking, fumbled with the lock on the steel supply closet.

The Boss growled in impatience.

At last, the gray oni divested the cabinet of its secret wares--the attache case filled with plastic explosives.

There they lay--four one-pound bricks of C-4, looking deceptively harmless, like clay that a child might use in kindergarten to model happy ponies. Deadly ponies. It is not only the shock waves from the explosive that can kill, but the building itself, when destroyed, turns into high-force shrapnel.

Grunting, the Boss snatched the case from Fuku, slapped it upon the steel desk, opened it--then glared at the gray oni, flatly accusing. Lifting a black device from the case, the demon lord waved it. "Wasn't there two of them detonators in here?"

"There were," Fuku assured him. "But the other one's faulty. I never could get it to work."

0-0-0-0-0

The Minamino residence was dark.

While Shay-san waited impatiently in the cab, Hiei leaned on the doorbell. Lights bloomed in response, and Kaasan opened the door at last. She looked at Hiei as though she did not quite recognize him. Her reddened eyes revealed that she had been weeping, was even now struggling to hold back tears.

Dread nibbled at the edge of Hiei's mind as she listened impassively to his request to see Kurama.

_Time, thought Hiei, time._ "Kaasan?"

"Hiei--" She turned her head away. "Please. Not now."

_Not Hi-chan_, he realized. "I'm sorry, but it's urgent--"

"Please don't ask to come in just now," she repeated.

A dark fear took hold of him that Kurama had not survived, yet Hiei could not simply slink away. "Kaasan? Where is--"

"My son is resting. He should be in the hospital but..."

"He refused." Hiei completed the sentence.

"Did you see the way he looked?"

Hiei hesitated. Toward Shiori, he felt as he did toward no other person. She had welcomed him from the first, did not complain of his frequently bloody and chaotic intrusions into her household, had come to his defense against the police with a cover story about adoption that, miraculously, she had decided to make a reality.

He wanted to shine in her eyes. "But it's not that bad. Kurama said so himself."

"Did you see him?" she repeated. "_I_ saw him. I saw my son as your wife and friend dragged him home, semi-conscious! Where were _you_?" For one moment her voice veered out of control. "You promised to look out for him!"

"Your son is far tougher than you give him credit for."

Her hand remained on the doorknob. "His face. You saw the blood, the bruises--yet you stand there and minimize it?"

Hiei wanted to tell her of Kurama's heart and courage, equal to, no, exceeding his own. He wanted to tell her that he had seen Kurama all but dismembered during the Dark Tournament, rising as from the dead to strike the killing blow to Karasu. He struggled to find the words, failed.

Yukina was in danger.

"Please, Kaasan; I really need to talk to him. After all, I'm practically his brother."

Too late, Hiei realized he had spoken the worst possible choice of words.

Something near-invisible drew down between himself and Kaasan, like a veil made of transparent filament as strong as steel, shuttering her face. Shiori could have been a statue, but her fingers gripping the door whitened.

"Please," Hiei whispered. "Only five minutes."

"Stop." Shiori turned her head away. "Before I am forced to say something I might regret."

Hiei opened his mouth; nothing emerged.

If there was one thing he could count on, it was Shiori's unflagging acceptance, her mother's heart. And though he might tease Kurama about such things, the wiser part of him looked upon the mother-son bond with longing. His father's words returned to him: _I made you, now I'll take it all away_.

Lermontov. Kenji. Keiko. Shiori! The daily commerce among souls, making him believe hope itself was possible. All those lives, attached to his own, digging into him, becoming familiar, needed. Then, one by one--departure. Whether by death or detachment, it was as a million fish-hooks buried deep in his flesh, now dragged slowly out, a million cuts, bleeding.

"Hiei." Shiori broke into his thoughts. She did not meet his gaze. "This is very difficult for me to say. But please. Please stay away from me."

She stepped back. The door was swinging shut. The click of a lock. The lights went out.

"Kaasan," he whispered.

The night had turned cold. His face felt stiff and un-natural with the effort to keep his expression blank.

They were out of time. No room now to grieve the loss of Shiori's kindness, no time to indulge in self-pity.

Old Dragon was going to murder Ibuki and Yukina, along with all the nuns and monks in the Trappist sanctuary in Hokkaidou. Trappists take vows of poverty and silence. Phoning ahead and asking them to evacuate the monastery would solve nothing. It could take hours to convince them, even supposing that someone in that silent community would so much as answer the phone.

It took Hiei a moment to rejoin Shay-san in the cab. It only seemed like a lifetime.

0-0-0-0-0

Grabbing the detonator, the demon king clicked the attache case shut. Carlos and the gray oni exchanged glances.

"Listen, Boss," Fukuoka pleaded, maneuvering where the demon lord could see him. "Don't you want to rethink this? There's enough plastic here to find a weak spot in the Barrier--the jaki are good at that--and blast it open."

The Boss stopped, his hands still on the case. He neither moved nor spoke.

The other oni had their orders, as did Azuma Ken. Even now, they would be in the process of destroying the target's children. By the time the bloody trail could be traced back to Carlos and the Boss, they would both be far out of reach, Carlos in Spain, the Boss to where Carlos neither knew nor cared.

"You'd be home," Fuku went on. "Back in _Makai_."

_Shut up_, Carlos urged silently. The look on the demon king's face, Carlos reflected, should have been enough to accomplish not only Fuku's silence, but his fleeing in terror.

"I ain't goin' back," snarled the Boss. "But I'll send _you_ somewhere I never gotta look at yer gutless face again."

Raising one clawed hand in a stance Carlos knew well, the Boss advanced on Fuku.

0-0-0-0-0

Saint Michael the Archangel, premiere swordsman, looked down upon Father Brian McCormick.

The priest had been unable to sleep. Rather than toss and turn, he had dressed, and come to his office in the basement of the Immaculate Heart church. Now, surrounded by images of the angels and saints, he sat at the cluttered desk, sorting files. This was Rosa's job, but at the moment she was reading to Hiei's kids, or maybe just watching over them as they slumbered.

It would lighten dear Rosa's burden if Father Brian could just put the files in alphabetical order.

But after realizing he had placed folders labeled 'z' on top of 'b' for the fifth time, he gave it up as a bad job.

Perhaps a drink might help relax him enough to return to the residence and catch 40 winks.

He reached into the right-hand drawer where he kept his whiskey, but something brushed his hand, a touch as soft as a feather, ephemeral as moonlight, and cold as the stars.

Sliding the drawer shut, Father Brian sat back, pondering.

All should be well.

His godchildren were down in the Safe Room, beyond the reach of any demon. That big lad, that Kazuma, was guarding them. And Hiei, little pissant though he might be, was strong and capable, even now hot on the trail of the demon lord.

_So_, Father Brian wondered, _what is it making me want to run to the cemetery_?

The painting of St. Michael did not reply.

_Ah, well. If you're goin', best go prepared_.

He got up, stuffed both pockets full of Holy Salt from a large crock on one of his shelves. Then he loaded his pockets with bottles of Holy Water. Holy Water could not destroy any but the weakest demons, but it would burn them badly. Armed, he stood with one hand on the office door.

He looked back at the painting of the Archangel. That image was something Father Brian usually found inspiring, but tonight the saint's expression seemed to reflect an urgency that had not been present even ten minutes ago.

Father Brian reached for his belt, where he wore his Rosary looped. He removed the Rosary, and placed it around his neck instead, wearing it as Hiei did.

Then he stepped into the empty corridor and ran like hell.

0-0-0-0-0

"So." Shay-san slanted Hiei a grim look. All during the silent ride to the harbor, he could sense her preparing for whatever they had to face. "It's just you and me now."

"Maybe." He bit back his automatic reassurance. In spite of his _youkai_ constitution and a sturdy physique, Hiei could certainly be killed.

Tonight, it was more than just a possibility.

The cab was even now approaching the harbor. _Deja vu_ battered his already-wearied senses.

Never had Hiei felt less prepared. Hoping Old Dragon was still in the vicinity, yet not willing to risk her safety--he could not stand the thought of losing her also!--he added, "But you can't be part of this. I won't put you in harm's way."

She turned to him, her eyes flashing gold fire, the way they always did when she was angry. "Just try and stop me!"

0-0-0-0-0

At the cemetery entrance, Father Brian stopped.

The night had turned chill and damp; a carpet of mist steamed the grounds, obscuring the bottom of the headstones. Perhaps this Shakespearean atmosphere gave rise to the eerie sense of what he saw there, the sense of a nightmare glimpsed at the edges of raveled sleep.

It wasn't possible, but demons had invaded the sanctuary.

0-0-0-0-0

There comes a time in every underling's career when a choice hits hard, and the full knowledge of your position comes to life.

And part of a Chief's job is to stand up for his men, even at risk to himself.

Admittedly, it was increasingly difficult to see the Boss' leadership abilities. Sure, there was the money--not to mention the Eye, even now controlling the remaining redshirts. And it was a fact that you had to eliminate the occasional underling, for no leader can tolerate insubordination.

But this was crazy.

Fukuoka was a good team member, intelligent and capable. It was wrong to waste him. More than wrong.

Until now, Carlos hadn't realized how weak he felt, how the loss of his appetite had stripped him of mass and strength. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to confront the truth. But now it tumbled down on him, against the backdrop of the Boss' sheer insanity.

The Boss couldn't fly the ship. He needed Carlos for that. But it was a gamble, given the demon's bloodthirsty and unstable frame of mind. Now in battle stance, flames blossomed from his outstretched claws like bright flowers, flames that had spat death many a time before.

Fukuoka stood resigned, not even looking to Carlos for help.

0-0-0-0-0

There were two of them, one blue, one ochre, their backs to Father Brian, their attention concentrated on the Safe Room.

Flattening himself against the trunk of a tree, the priest saw Kazuma swinging his spirit-sword at the demons, who snarled as they dodged back and forth.

Beastlike in size and demeanor, they nevertheless possessed enough human aspects to present a disturbing image. The demons both heavily muscled and clawed, their teeth like tusks.

_Where's a baseball bat when you need one?_

There was only that far-too-young boy, holding his ground, backed up against the mausoleum entrance, standing between the monsters and Father Brian's godchildren.

0-0-0-0-0

Inside the Safe Room, Rosa, her eyes curiously blank, removed the Maltese Cross from her sweater and laid it on a table. Then she moved toward the door, stiffly, as if on strings controlled by an unseen puppeteer.

0-0-0-0-0

The demons would come together to rush the boy, then split apart, trying to draw him out, lure him from his position.

_Enough lollygagging. Act_. As Father Brian ran into the fray, he called to Kazuma: "Don't let 'em past you!"

The lad caught sight of him. "Past me?" He spoke English well enough to be understood, not only to communicate with Father Brian, but also to confound the monsters. "These demons shouldn't even be able to _stand_ in a place like this!"

True. Only Hiei, with his one-in-a-million resistance to Holy Fire, could tread such hallowed ground unfazed. "Sure and you're right about that." Reaching into his pockets, Father Brian flung a handful of Holy Salt, making the demons retreat far enough for him to reach the boy's side.

And as he ran he saw what the fog had obscured. "See, lad?" Father Brian pointed out the oni's feet, hissing as they burned in contact with the cemetery ground. "Somethin's driving them on a suicide mission!"

A swordsman's gleam lit Kazuma's eyes. "Let's oblige 'em!"

Father Brian could match feral grins with anybody. "You're on, boy!" Shoulder-to-shoulder with Hiei's friend, the priest flung Holy Water at the demons. Their thudding footsteps as they feinted and sprang away were punctuated by snarls of pain wherever Holy Water hit. Kazuma swung his sword, but the oni were quick for creatures that size--seven-footers the both of them. Always they sprang back, avoiding the lad's weapon.

"These guys--" Kazuma's words came in a rush of breath. "I know them. They're the Boss' thugs."

Father Brian flung a handful of Holy Salt at the blue demon. As the grains struck its hide, it yelped, but this time it did not spring back quite as far. The Holy Salt wasn't losing efficacy; the demons had become increasingly desperate.

Kazuma snarled something in Japanese that Father Brian couldn't translate. The spirit energy that burst from the boy was impressive. His sword sang; the blue oni fell back, howling in pain from a wounded shoulder. "Over my dead body!"

"That's as may be," muttered Father Brian, backing away from the ochre-colored demon that bared its dripping tusks and slashed at him with clawed hands.

Movement to his left made Father Brian whip his head around.

A red demon, new and fresh and ready to fight, burst from the bushes to charge them head-on.

0-0-0-0-0

Smoke curled from the Boss' claws. Fukuoka shut his eyes, resigned to death.

Risking death himself, Carlos lunged forward to put his own body between the angry demon and Fuku. "Leave him, Boss. A coward like that? He's not worth your fire."

His fangs bared, a murderous glint in his eyes, the Boss did not stand down.

"Time's wasting," Carlos said. The Boss could not hear the edge of desperation in his voice, but he might read it on his face. "The target could return any moment."

Behind Carlos, Fuku gave a hiss of fear.

The Boss stood still as a statue, his gaze turned inward, the Eye open.

At last, the Boss blinked. Banking his flames, he lowered his hand.

Fukuoka let out an explosive breath. Carlos deliberately turned his back on the Boss to regard the undersized gray oni. "Hey. Take care of yourself, my friend."

"Thanks." Fuku shrugged. "Maybe I'll just hang out here a while. All the modern conveniences, and the rent's paid up."

"There is that." Carlos grinned.

"Look out for yourself, too." Fuku flicked his gaze toward the Boss' back, his homely features lined with worry.

Then the demon lord grabbed the case full of explosives and charged from the office. "Just get me t' that damned monastery!"

0-0-0-0-0

Her movements jerky and un-natural, Rosa's hand closed on the doorknob.

The Evil Eye is a powerful weapon. When wielded by a natural Jagan master, it can control more than one target at a time, and at a distance. Previous victims of its hypnosis are twice as easy to subvert.

The door opened. Stiffly she walked down the corridor, then ascended the stairs.

0-0-0-0-0

Kazuma was too far away, Father Brian realized. The two demons, with their feints and attacks, had managed to separate them. But the lad still stood with his back resolutely in place, guarding the Safe Room; it was the priest who had been drawn off. Kazuma couldn't guard the babies and come to Father Brian's aid both. Stifling a stream of curses, the priest clenched his teeth and sized up the new threat.

With its thickly layered muscle, spiraling horns, and luxuriant black mane, this new monster looked like something from a malevolent fairy tale. Larger and deadlier than the other two, it could have been henchman to the Devil himself.

Its tree-trunk arms opened wide, the red demon charged.

The priest reached into his pocket as a gunslinger reaches for his gun. But there wasn't single a drop of Holy Water left. He had spent it all on keeping the other two monsters at bay. _Probably part of their plan_, he thought ruefully; _reinforcements waitin' in the wings_.

The Holy Salt had run out, likewise.

But Father Brian still had one ace around his neck--his Rosary. He had owned this one since he'd been ordained, a gift from his Sister Ursula, a honkin' great model with a pewter Crucifix and rosewood beads, all strung on heavy cord.

Father Brian reached for the solid comfort of the Crucifix--and closed on empty air.

From the corner of his eye, even in this darkness, he saw the dull luster of the Crucifix lying on the ground, far beyond his reach. The cord must have been severed sometime during the scuffle with the other two monsters.

Kazuma had his hands full. No way the lad could reach the priest in time.

_Well_, thought Father Brian, _who wants to live forever?_ The monster was armed with claws and tusks, and he was out of ammo, but Father Brian had always been good with his fists. Setting his stance, he uttered a silent prayer and made a vow to make the demon pay dearly for his life.

0-0-0-0-0

They stopped in the street, the driver refusing to deliver them to the warehouse door. Hiei shot from the cab, Shay-san at his heels. The harbor looked sleepy and resentful at their intrusion, the water sleek and silvered, as if ironed by the moon.

They were truly alone now.

"Come on," Shay-san urged, pelting toward the warehouse. The clank and purr of unseen motors seemed indecently loud. As he caught up with her, Hiei protested, "I can't let you do this!"

But Shay-san flung him another of those blazing-gold looks. "They're my kids, too! And Lermontov and Kenji were my friends. If--if anything happens, well, 'Aunt Mary' will make a good substitute mommy."

"Stupid woman! Don't even think it!" The magnitude of Hiei's anxiety made him snap at her, and he could not snatch back his words, but before he could open his mouth again to apologize, they rounded the corner.

And stopped.

From the background tapestry of noises rose the one sound that had haunted Hiei even in his dreams. Dreading the sight, Hiei tilted his head toward the thunder above him. What he saw struck ice into his heart.

They were too late.

(To be continued: Fire blossoms in the sky!)

-30-


	44. FS C43: Take Me Up! Take Two

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C43: "Take Me Up!" Take Two

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Can Hiei stop Old Dragon before he murders Yukina?

A/N: I have to thank Jo-chan for introducing me to the wonders of the timeline, without which this story would have been much, much harder to write--and read. See accompanying character sketches up on my LJ homepagey. As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"It was you! You did it!"

Firebird Sweet C43: "Take Me Up!" Take Two (Endgame, Part Seven)

by

Kenshin

_Emerging through a thick white curtain, a Stranger approached Hiei, then stopped a few yards away. _

_The Stranger wore his black hair loose, streaming behind him like a banner in the wind. He was tall--perhaps as tall as Youko Kurama, with Youko's look of wiry strength._

_Calm turquoise eyes, set far apart in the pale oval of The Stranger's face, regarded Hiei steadily. Almost hidden by the mantle of snow and hair, something--a weapon? A power signature?--flicked in and out of view. Hiei groped for his katana. Gone. He reached to strip the gauntlet warding his Dragon. Gone. Nor would his Eye function. _

_No gauntlet, no Dragon, nothing. _

_"So. On my own strength alone." _

_The Stranger spoke. "I'm sorry. You have to go back."_

_--the pulsing roar of helicopter rotors from high above. Hiei jerked his head skyward. A morning glory of flame bloomed at the apex of the sky, then slammed down on him. _

_--Hiei was falling, falling, falling. _

_And The Stranger watched him fall: an infant, wrapped in wards, helpless, furious, cast away. _

_"It was you!" Hiei snarled. "You!"_

_Then, another sound: the cold, pitiless rasp of a voice filtered through hospital loudspeakers: "Code Blue! Code Blue!"_

0-0-0-0-0

The harbor was wreathed in darkness. A metal fretwork of cranes gleamed in the moonlight. Across the harbor, window lights glittered like bits of crushed, sour candy strewn against the black hulks of buildings.

Head tilted to the moonlit sky, watching the helicopter depart over the harbor, Hiei stood for a frozen eternity.

Thunderstruck he may have been, but Shay-san was not. "Hiei!" Her cry shook him out of his reverie. She jerked her head toward the sky. "We can't let them escape!"

Still he hesitated. The machine had apparently just taken off, hovering above the sleeping skeletons of the cranes, not quite beyond Hiei's reach. Yet his own death grinned down at him from the moon, against the soundtrack of mechanical music.

The roar of rotors was real. The chopper hovered not 50 feet above the harbor. It had no running lights, but the moon revealed its insectile shape.

Beside him, Shay-san clenched her fists, eyes blazing. "We can't let him kill Yukina!"

"And I can't let you--"

"He's getting away!" She ran toward the edge of the docks. After only a split-second's hesitation Hiei ran after her.

"Take me up!" she snarled, and her words, spoken as a Spellcaster, shot through him like an electric current. He caught up with her, caught her up, and sprang into the air.

0-0-0-0-0

The red demon charged like a freight train, its breath steaming out through bared tusks sharp as spears.

Its weight and power could bowl him over like a ninepin, but Father Brian thought of Rosa, down in the Safe Room, and what would happen if this monster got past him--Rosa, with her sweet innocent throat torn out! And what of the twins? Helpless babes they were, even though half-demon.

_He'll have to rip me to shreds to stop me_.

As if by telepathy, Kazuma reacted. Bellowing, he swung his sword in a fiery arc to keep the other two monsters at bay.

0-0-0-0-0

The Robbie carried an attache loaded with enough firepower to turn the monastery to ash, and it did not fly as light and nimble as Carlos would have liked, weighted down now with both the pilot and the passenger, but soon, soon, it would all be over with, and he would be rid of the Boss.

Then Carlos glanced down toward the docks, and his hands trembled on the controls.

0-0-0-0-0

_This is wrong_, Hiei thought, soaring toward the chopper, Shay-san clinging to his back. In his right hand, a black device size of a TV remote, one white button like an eye in its center. _All wrong. The rhythm of this battle, all wrong_.

There was a human flying the chopper, but that was not the problem. Hiei was authorized now to take human life, in self-defense or defense of others. He had killed before, would kill again; he was no hand-wringing milksop more concerned with the rights of perpetrator than victim.

So why hesitate?

Because something about this situation screamed at him: "The music doesn't say to do that!" A chill straked his neck.

For whatever unfathomable reason, as Hiei pursued the creature who had ordered Lermontov's death, he recalled his frequent complaint to the Russian dance master: _The music doesn't say to do that_.

He had often shouted those words at Lermontov whenever there was a clash of will regarding choreography. Now Lermontov was gone, beyond the reach of apology or reconciliation.

Suspended halfway between chopper and ground, this was the moment of choice: let gravity drag him back to earth, or use muscle power to rebound off the obliging crane, make the final leap toward the chopper. And what then?

Lermontov's killer also intended to kill Yukina. He must be stopped. But it was all wrong. _The music doesn't say to do that_.

The beat. The tempo. The ineffable sense of timing that had made Hiei a superb fighter had also made him a superb dancer. This sense was now tuned to concert pitch, and it had Red Alert klaxons blaring.

In bitter truth, what was wrong with the music was this:

_I don't want to kill my father_.

With Hiei's mother gone these many years, with the deaths of Lermontov and Kenji, the detachment of Shiori and Keiko, he had no wish to suffer another loss.

Thus, hesitation, when his twitching thumb ached to press that white button and set off the explosives, destroying the chopper before it reached Yukina.

He did not want to kill his own father.

"Now!" Shay-san cried. "Do it!" Orphaned herself, an only child, she was also desperate to save Yukina. Hiei understood her reasoning, but he also knew she was wrong. There was another way. He had obeyed her command, taken her up. But she weighed him down, depleted as he was, and slowed his reactions. If he could battle Old Dragon alone--

"Detonate," she urged, her trained and dangerous voice veering close to Command.

0-0-0-0-0

Kazuma had his hands full, battling the blue and ochre demons. And as if the red demon knew that nothing lay between himself and the priest, it licked its lips and sprang, razor claws slashing at Father Brian's neck.

0-0-0-0-0

_Detonate!_

Inside the chopper, two opposing forced battled for possession of a man's soul.

One was a human girl, determined to save her friends. The other, a demon lord of great power, hell-bent on destruction.

If Carlos could see that the target and the girl were after them, suspended in mid-leap, girl clinging to target, then so could the Boss.

The girl's snarl echoed in his ear, but the demon's snarl was louder: "Turn it! Turn it North!"

_Poor fire-haired girl,_ Carlos thought. _Her babies are dead by now._

He could not take his hands from the controls.

0-0-0-0-0

Though he was outmanned, and knew it, and though the situation was hopeless, Father Brian swung at the red demon as it thundered toward him, its claws promising a protracted and painful death.

"Rei gun!" The cry shattered the night; a new voice, throaty with cheerful anger, a voice Father Brian had heard before. A ball of fierce white energy ploughed into the red demon, momentarily freezing its face into a look of shock.

Then it exploded into a hundred sizzling pieces.

"Urameshi!" Galvanized by the dark-haired youth's arrival, a renewed Kazuma charged the other demons, his golden sword sizzling with power. He took down the blue demon with one double-handed stroke, the ochre-colored one on the backswing. Both heavy bodies thudded to the ground.

Three demons vanquished. It was over.

As the new lad sauntered closer, Kazuma rejoined Father Brian, who sagged in relief.

"Oi!" Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Urameshi Yuusuke gave them the thumbs-up. "A little gray birdie told me you guys might need a hand."

0-0-0-0-0

"Detonate!" urged Shay-san. "What are you waiting for?"

They hung in the air, close to the chopper, Hiei turning on a spit of agony. If a special corner of Hell waited for child-killers, then what awaited those about to commit patricide?

How to fight them? Holy Water would weaken Hiei's father, but it would have no effect on Carlos.

_Half-dead from poison, spirit power at an all-time low, no sword, no Dragon, alone. Alone. Can't escape my destiny_.

Alone, but she was at his side. "Stupid woman!" Hiei cried out in frustration. _I won't kill my father! I'll stop him somehow. I can save them both: father and sister. And you. And you, my firebird. But I must do it alone_.

0-0-0-0-0

_**DETONATE**_!

"North!" screamed the Boss. "T' monastery!" His open Jagan began to flare with an unholy light.

None of the people Carlos had ever served had proven trustworthy. The target, however--that young demon had conducted himself with honor throughout the trials imposed on him by the Boss, and his allies had fought alongside him every step of the way.

Carlos was not a sentimental man, but he allowed himself a moment to wonder how his life might have been, had he encountered such souls as the boy and his friends early on.

_Face it. You prey upon the weak--no different from the hunters of the_ favelas, _no different from those who took Bebita_.

With his Evil Eye, the Boss had dispatched three unwilling oni to slaughter the target's children. He could easily force Carlos to fly the Robbie to the monastery, to refuel once along the way, and then complete the mission.

Carlos had never before felt the power of the Boss' Jagan, but now the demon lord showed an edge of reckless ferocity. He strafed Carlos with the Eye.

Unable to cry out, Carlos shrank from the clawing sensation at the back of his skull, the pressing urge to give in as the demon lord, leering in triumph, gripped the detonator tight. The evil eye tore at him, shredding his will, leaving him nauseated and sick.

But there was another force at work.

A female voice, shrill with desperation, the voice of a siren, slammed into his heart like a javelin, straight and true.

_"DETONATE!"_

Those opposing forces battled for supremacy, combining to forge a single moment, burst open into infinite points on the vast playground of time and space.

A moment when Carlos could see all the roads that lay ahead and behind.

When Bebita scampered toward him up the steeply-pitched dirt roads of the _favelas_, the Rio sun bestowing a rosy flush to her cheeks; her dark eyes crescents above a radiant smile, a spray of white flowers clutched in her grubby fist.

Wherever she was, Bebita managed to find flowers.

When also he could picture a young beauty with hair the color of glaciers and eyes like her brother's.

_That girl! She's just a kid!_ pleaded Carlos, who did not quite understand with whom he was pleading.

"S'matter?" The Boss' Jagan flared, opening a fresh blossom of pain inside Carlos' head. "Don'cha think I can get y'outta this? Don'cha think I'm strong enough?"

_The target has a sister too,_ Carlos thought. _The target? He has a name. He's a person. His name is Hiei. His only crime was in being born. His sister, the ice maiden. Her name is Yukina_.

One hand still on the controls, Carlos reached for the detonator.

0-0-0-0-0

As they hung in mid-air below the chopper, Shay-san's pleas rang in Hiei's mind:

--They murdered Lermontov and Kenji! They would have murdered me! I won't let them kill Yukina, too!

Hiei did not mount an argument against that. There was none. But Shay-san was not thinking clearly. Yes, the Boss and Carlos must be stopped. Yes, Yukina must be saved. But the monastery was almost 500 miles north, and with Father Brian's help they could phone ahead faster than they could chase down a helicopter. And even if they couldn't, surely there was someone the priest could call on, someone who would roust himself to the monastery and warn them, drag them from the building if needed.

But first he must save her. His firebird.

"DETONATE!"

She had spoken in Command. She was a powerful Spellcaster. Her Voice ripped at Hiei's will. He wanted to obey.

_No! Too close to the chopper!_

"DETONATE!"

Hiei's thumb twitched on the button.

_I'll bring you back down safely and stop him. If I don't we'll both die, here and now, as in my dream_.

Hiei made his choice.

One moment, the detonator was in his hand. The next, he cocked an elbow, then watched the device sail toward the chopper's rotors.

A helicopter's rotors are delicate instruments. Anything can cause them to go wrong, and the chopper can veer off-course, the pilot lose control, and it will plummet, down, down, toward the harbor, to land in the water.

They could easily get out of its way, and Hiei could defeat his father without killing him.

The detonator hurtled straight toward the rotors.

And missed.

0-0-0-0-0

Kazuma and Yuusuke were dragging the demon bodies behind the mausoleum, conferring in low, earnest tones as they considered the best method to rid themselves of the remains without the assistance of Hiei's fire.

Father Brian stretched, yawned, and took in a deep, grateful breath. What a night!

Everything seemed to be in order. The demons dead, the children safe. Always darkest before dawn.

A bird called softly from the arching boughs of the trees. Dawn would arrive soon, and with it, resolution.

He wondered how the little pissant was faring in his battle.

From the tail of his eye, Father Brian caught sight of Rosa walking toward him from the gloom of the mausoleum, the secret panel open behind her.

He turned, urging her to remain down in that room for a bit longer.

That was when the enormous man charged from his hiding place in the bushes, knife-first. Instinctively the priest raised an arm to shield himself. The knife flashed, tearing a hot swath of pain across his right forearm. Father Brian winced as blood burst from his wound to stain the hallowed ground.

0-0-0-0-0

Carlos was a man who was going places.

He had dreams. He had plans. He was due to relax on the beaches of Spain, far away from drug lords and demon kings.

But now he struggled with the demon king for possession of the detonator, his arm and hand already shredded by the Boss's claws. A steady drip of his blood slicked the Robbie's controls under his hand.

Two girls. One of fire, one of ice.

Carlos did not want to die. Nor did he want the ice maiden to perish, as had his sister Bebita.

And not the game little fire-haired girl either, the one who had thwarted the Boss time and again.

Carlos thought of what the Boss had done to so many of his underlings--what he would have done to Fukuoka just now.

And he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that the Boss had never meant for him to survive.

0-0-0-0-0

A short distance away from the Yukimura diner, the jaki that Shayla Kidd had named 'Squirrel' huddled in a tree.

He had told that strong boy with the dark hair where to find his friends. But now--

For no reason whatever, he wrapped his arms around his knees and began to whimper in fear.

0-0-0-0-0

The Boss had never appeared more demonic, with his black-on-black eyes wild with rage, his yellow fangs bared, so close Carlos could smell his pungent sweat as they struggled for possession of the detonator.

The demon would simply command Carlos to fly the ship into the monastery, not merely land on it.

The Boss could do it. The Eye could do it.

Carlos had suspected this, yet had never dared admit it. The Boss would not save him. He had intended all along for Carlos to die in the explosion, as well as the little ice maiden--Yukina was her name.

The Boss was shouting in a coarse, guttural language Carlos did not understand. Rage, yes, but also indignation--as though none of his underlings had ever before defied him to this level.

The demon lord's Jagan pierced him like arrows of poisoned fire, and Carlos knew his heart would soon burst from the strain of resisting.

Whether Bebita intervened, or the Spellcaster girl--_No! her name is Shayla! Shayla Kidd!_--Carlos never knew. But a fierce surge of strength pulsed through him, electric and unstoppable, a strength that enabled him to keep his hand on the detonator while the crazed, furious demon struggled to reclaim it.

Then--influenced neither by the demon who tore at his arm and his mind, nor the siren's desperate command, Carlos, of his own free will, wrenched the detonator from the Boss' hand.

(To be continued: "I love you--good-bye.")

-30-


	45. FS C44: The Fairy Light

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C44: The Fairy Light

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: With every victory comes loss.

A/N: In many ways, this was a difficult chapter to write, and I'm hoping I 'stuck the dismount.' Thanks for reading and reviewing! Accompanying sketches are up on my LJ homepagey.

"Please! I have to see her!"

Firebird Sweet C44: The Fairy Light (Endgame, Part Eight)

by

Kenshin

Leaping back even as he struck, the knifeman grinned at Father Brian's bleeding arm.

Tall as Kazuma, maybe taller, the attacker was every bit as bulky, and probably outweighed Father Brian by a good fifty or sixty pounds, with a superior reach. Leather vest that left bulging arms bare. Buzz-cut yellow hair. Long, dark eyes of a born predator. Stomach twisting, Father Brian recognized the very same man he'd glimpsed back at the hospital, when he stood guard over poor little Ibuki. This menacing presence, coupled with Father Brian's certain knowledge that he would return, had prompted them to move Ibuki out of reach, first to the Safe Room, then to her hiding place among the Trappist monks.

Buzz-cut eyed the mausoleum--where Rosa stood, the door to the Safe Room open behind her.

"Rosa, get back!" Father Brian warned. But Rosa remained as still as a headstone herself. The thug laughed.

_So this was their plan all along! Once the demons had killed us, this human would enter the Safe Room and--_

No. He must be stopped here, at all costs, this would-be assassin of infants. Jumping sideways to block the entrance, Father Brian shouted, "Try it, you tattooed bastard!"

Even if the attacker couldn't understand Father Brian's words, he read his intent. Baring his teeth, he came on, knife first. Father Brian countered with a couple of right jabs that had no hope of reaching inside the range of the taller man's knife. Another slash burned his arm.

Gloating in Japanese, Buzz-cut swung his knife in a horizontal arc, making it a shield as well as a weapon.

Blood still dripping from his wounds, Father Brian counted the seconds it took Buzz-cut to recover from one arc of the knife to the next. No time to shout for help.

Then Buzz-cut jerked his head toward the sky for a moment. Father Brian followed his gaze. _Looking in the direction of the harbor. What for?_

**This**.

An explosion spread like a blossom of fire across the sky. Seconds later a hollow boom rattled his eardrums.

Father Brian went cold. He crossed himself. _My little colleen! Hiei! God help them!_

In a spasm of rage and grief, Father Brian charged. His speed surprised the thug. Uttering a silent prayer, he put all his weight behind a left uppercut to the bigger man's jaw.

0-0-0-0-0

Images of a fiery crash involving Hiei had haunted Kurama for some time. He had no explanation for this fear; they had flown to America and back safely, but, even now, the thought harried him. At his earliest opportunity Kurama had sneaked from his room and taken a cab to the abandoned factory where, years earlier, he and Hiei had slain the demon Yatsude.

Kurama had a hunch that if the enemy was no longer in the warehouse, this would be his hiding place of choice.

But the factory was empty, and Kurama directed the cab to Warehouse Four. As they turned toward the harbor, dread wreathed him in a dark mantle: _Hiei will never get to complete that great arc, will never become the man he was meant to be_.

He urged the driver on.

0-0-0-0-0

It was nothing. The pain was nothing. The wounds were nothing--even when the Boss' scrabbling claws punctured Carlos' wrist, and a spurt of arterial blood spray-painted the ship's interior.

He looked the Boss in the Eye, and laughed.

And the Boss was afraid. He did not want to die like this, did not want Hiei to win. It was written in his mind; it was written on his twisted, sweaty face.

Back in the _favelas_, when faced with an impossible dilemma, Carlos had traded the fear of hiding from the guns of criminals for the fear of hiding from the law. But it was still hiding. _Back then, I chose to go wrong. No one forced me. I told myself that I needed to join with them to find my lost sister. Christo Redentor, forgive me!_

The demon wrestled with Carlos, no longer speaking in any tongue, but grunting like an animal. With each grunt, powered by the Eye, agony flared in Carlos' head, conspired to burst his heart. He had seconds to live.

But at the brink of despair grew a seed of hope. _I'll stop you! I'll save both girls, as no one saved Bebita_.

With a surge of joy, Carlos locked gazes with the demon one final time, sensed the faint, unbelieving echo of the evil eye: **I've lost? This can't be!**

_Bebita of the flowers! I will see you soon!_ His broad thumb sure and steady, Carlos pressed the detonator.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei's Jagan was still useful for something. He reassured Shay-san:

--I'll set you down, then you call Father Brian for help!

--No!

--I can move faster without you! I have a chance to win!

Her insignificant weight slowing him, making him less agile, Hiei turned in mid-air. _Now to put her safely on the ground-- _

He never got the chance.

The chopper exploded, slamming them both toward the blacktop.

0-0-0-0-0

Sitting in the office, Fukuoka thought he could use the warehouse as a sanctuary. The rent was indeed paid up for a while, with food and drink to last for weeks, a telephone, and video monitors for entertainment. All the comforts of home.

He wondered how Carlos would like Spanish cuisine. The image of his friend nibbling _tapas_ brought a smile to his face.

He was reaching for a bottle of sake, a silent toast to Carlos, when the explosion rocked the warehouse and knocked him to the floor.

0-0-0-0-0

Light.

Nothing but white light, pressing in on him, overwhelming in scope, almost a sound, a taste.

Slitting all three eyes against its power, Hiei saw that the light emanated from a point straight ahead. _Why does this place look familiar_?

His answer came immediately: he had been here before, back in the hospital, when he flung all his spirit energy into the Heartblade in a desperate attempt to save his firebird. _But shouldn't there be pain? Even I can't fall that far without taking serious damage._

Reminiscent of his dream, somewhat like the Kourime village, were edifices half-hidden by mist--mist he had previously taken for snow. They could indeed be the houses of the Ice Maidens, or they could be warehouses, or something else altogether. The half-glimpsed buildings formed a corridor, and at the end of the corridor blazed the beckoning light.

The light made all cares fall from his shoulders. Hiei walked toward it, peering ahead, trying to see into its matrix. He saw instead--

"Little pipsqueak!" A man was just visible through the mist, backlit by the white blaze: dark, saturnine countenance, long, arrogant nose and condescending eyes, gypsy bandanna wrapped around his head. "Well, well," drawled the familiar, Russian-accented voice. "Fancy meeting you here. Always I thought you would end up in other place."

"Lermontov?"

The Russian gave him a wink. "If I call you Twinkle-toes, will you slit my throat?"

Hiei replied, utterly bemused: "What's it matter? You're dead already."

"True. And so, little pipsqueak, are you."

"Does it hurt?" Hiei inquired.

The Russian gave him a sidelong grin. "Not any more."

And there were others standing in the mist behind Lermontov. Hina! His mother, too, awaited beyond the light. Eagerly, Hiei started forward.

He did not get far. Something brushed his shoulder, feather-light, yet it barred Hiei's way.

Now, Lermontov receded, swallowed up by mist. A hidden sense of power, both chill and remote and utterly familiar, made Hiei look up--into the face of The Stranger.

As before, wide, calm turquoise eyes regarded Hiei from the pale oval face curtained by black hair. A loose black tunic left his sinewed arms bare.

"It's you," Hiei whispered.

Up close, The Stranger seemed even taller. "You have to go back," the deep voice fluted.

That voice itself was a soothing balm. And for the first time, Hiei could see what had always been hidden behind the extravagant hair. Wings. Enormous wings of searing beauty, black-feathered, reflecting green and gold and crimson.

"But why?" Yearning for the light, Hiei flicked a glance past the stranger, but the view was now closed to him.

"Your task is not yet finished."

"I know you," whispered Hiei, fumbling in his memory.

The Stranger smiled. The smile did not reach his eyes. "Yes. You know me. You're not alone. You never have been."

Mist purled round their feet. Far away, a faint crystalline music sounded. And Hiei caught his breath.

He, who forgot nothing, had forgotten till now.

An angel is bound neither by space nor time.

Mere barriers between worlds cannot hope to contain one, nor the net of flesh in which other creatures are trapped. Half in fear, half in longing, Hiei re-wound the tape of his memory, and realized that his nightmares were not the first time he and the Stranger had crossed paths.

"You were chosen since before your birth to fulfill this destiny," The Stranger said. "Your job is far from finished."

"Job?"

"Child, to you much has been given: speed and strength, courage and daring. Of you much will be required." The Stranger lifted his hand; and as Botan conjured her oar, a sword appeared, wreathed in such fires as Hiei had never before seen.

The Stranger raised the sword until it was a vertical spear of light. "This belongs to you." He extended the glowing sword, made of Holy Fire itself.

_Not one person in a thousand can even see it_, Father Brian had told Hiei; _not one demon in ten thousand, and not one in a million demons can touch it and live_.

The Stranger bowed his head. "Take this symbol of what is to come. Keep it well."

Hesitating only a little, Hiei grasped the sword. It had a good, balanced heft, and it burned cool and steady in his hand.

And then all was white, pure Light, and they were falling side-by-side, Hiei and The Stranger plummeting toward the earth, The Stranger above, hair streaming, hand outstretched.

"It was you," Hiei gasped. "You, all along! Back then, when Rui threw me off the edge of the world! You saved me! I thought I had willed myself to live, but your wings--"

"You have to go back," The Stranger repeated.

For an instant, Hiei's hand brushed The Stranger's, and then the hand was snatched away. "No, wait--!"

The Light swirled away into a black vortex. A rushing wind tore his hair.

Falling, falling, faster and faster. Hiei was falling toward the warehouses, and so was **she**.

Then the impact of flesh on blacktop, shattering bone. Pain to pain, to fear, to the smell of burning.

0-0-0-0-0

There was a rustling in the tree above him. Squirrel lifted his head to see the face of the dun-brown jaki, who had betrayed the location of the young demon's cubs.

"Don't look at me like that," it said.

Squirrel shut his eyes.

The dun-brown jaki's voice rose. "I did what I had to do!"

"Go away," Squirrel whispered. "You don't even have a name."

0-0-0-0-0

"It's not your time yet," the Stranger had said to Hiei. _But oh, please, God, not hers!_

Strewn all around them, shrapnel smoked beneath the moon. The explosion had slammed them both to the blacktop. She lay on her back, a short way from him, broken and bleeding, and he could not move, but he had to move.

He was lying on his back, too. He lifted a shoulder. Pain tore through him neck to belly, a deep, fiery agony that spoke of broken bones and ruptured organs.

A piece of shrapnel had pierced his side. Snarling, he tore it free. It clanged to the pavement. The air was thick with smoke that stung his eyes, and burning wire, and motor oil, and flesh. He stretched an arm toward her, and pain shot up his spine. His legs--he was unable to feel them at all, much less move them.

Maybe The Stranger was still listening. _You said I had work to do. Can't do it without her. Please_.

No reply. Hiei set his teeth and rolled over.

He could not stand, but he could crawl. The distance between them was mere feet. Forcing himself up on his elbows, he hitched along the ground, inching closer to her, leaving a trail of blood.

_Shay-san_, he pleaded, _Open your eyes_.

There was a ragged sound to her breathing. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose.

He inched closer still, again using his elbows as levers to drag himself along the oily blacktop. Each movement sent knives into his innards, but he was beside her at last.

"Stay with me," he got out.

Her hands--so beautiful. 'Working hands,' she called them. Now covered in blood. He knew from a glance that these were only abrasions, painful but not life-threatening. He wanted to kiss her hands but refused to cause her more pain.

"Stay with me." His voice broke.

His senses were scrambled from the explosion, from the fall. He could not tell how badly she was hurt. Blood from the nose and mouth was a sign of internal injuries.

"I don't think you're stupid," he whispered, stroking the marble cheek. "That's just a joke. You know that, don't you?"

She did not stir.

"This isn't supposed to happen. We're supposed to live happily ever after."

"Cold," she whispered, shivering. "C-cold."

Weak as he was, failure that he had been, he could still be of some use. While he was still alive he could transfer some of his fire demon's heat to her, keep her warm.

As he did so, he saw some burning pieces of the helicopter still drifting to the ground like fat, glowing sparks. He sensed one falling toward her, ignored the grinding pain and put out a hand to protect her, furious that she should have to suffer this rain of fire.

But this spark was different.

Spherical in shape, it shone with a cool dim fairy light. To his astonishment it passed right through his hand, not burning, but soothing, and came to rest upon his firebird's brow, where its glow quickly spread, illuminating the marble face.

There were words coming from the spark, high and piping like a child's first attempts at speech. Or perhaps the words were spoken only in his heart: "Mommy's hurt."

Kourime were healers. His daughter was one-quarter Kourime.

_Cecilia? Can it be--_

The piping voice, real or imaginary, galvanized Shay-san as nothing else could. "No," she gasped. The gumdrop-gray eyes fluttered open. "Too young!" Her eyes closed again.

And then, summoning a strength she did not have, from a life-force she could not afford to lose, once more the Spellcaster spoke her Command:

"CeeCee--listen to Mommy."

Hiei cried out in a wordless agony of grief. She was sacrificing herself to send the light away.

"Back to bed. Mommy's all right. Go. Now!"

As the spark hovered, Hiei balanced on a knife-point, hoping that it would stay and heal her, yet silently urging it to safety. Then--

The fairy light floated up and away. Shay-san let out a thread of a sigh. Her eyes sought his. "Chopper?"

"Destroyed."

Her lips curved, the faintest of smiles. "Your past ... should have turned you bitter, twisted, evil, like Old--"

She had to save her strength! "Shhhh."

"But you're not. You're a hero."

"Hush! I'm no hero."

"You'll be all right."

"Not without you!"

"Promise..." Her voice was fading, even in his mind.

"I'm not letting you go!"

"Five minutes," she breathed.

_She's dying_. In the distance, much too far away to reach them in time, the wail of sirens.

0-0-0-0-0

The other jaki had left. Squirrel was already missing the warmth of the Spellcaster's hand, the soft voice that had crooned to him. It hurt more than anything he had felt in his short life, but he knew better than to raise a racket so close to human dwellings. Huddled in his tree, he wept silent tears.

0-0-0-0-0

_I had always believed I would die in battle. Back then, in the Dark Tournament, I could never access my true power. I was fighting for myself alone. That's why I had trouble with the Dragon. Now I fight for her._

And even though he knew they could not possibly hear him, Hiei said his good-byes: _Sorry, Stranger. You'll have to give that sword to another._ Then he included his sister, Keiko, Shizuru, Shiori. Genkai and Father Brian.

_Kuwabara, you've done more with what you have than anyone I know. Yuusuke, you're still an amazing bastard. Kurama, friend, almost brother, keep an eye on Shay-san and my kids. _

_My idiot beloved. You've been torn in two all this time. Separated from family and homeland. I know what that's like. I don't pretend you won't mourn but you'll be whole. And I hope someday you'll tell Michael and CeeCee good things about me._

_What you did with CeeCee--that was the true heroism. I'm sorry I could not send love from my mouth. But I love you. Good-bye_.

Then, without fear or hesitation, he poured his life force into her. Strange, this feeling, a steady trickle laced with vertigo, yet different from heavy bleeding, almost as though a tide was washing out, slow but inexorable, lifting him, drawing him to the eternal sea. Faint wailing in his ears.

Smell of smoke. Eyelids heavy. Golden peal of bells. The Sword of Rome would rest at last.

With his final strength, Hiei eased his upper body away from her so his dead weight would not crush her when life fled.

Again, the wailing in his ears. No. The sound was real, pressing close. Sirens. The ambulance had arrived.

Flashing light threw bloody reflections on the pavement. Hands gripped him, pulling him away from her--

_No! Stop!_

--strapping him to a gurney. One strap tightened around his head. Hiei could not move, could not turn to locate her. "No! What are you doing, she's the one who needs help!"

And then they were dogging the gurney down in the ambulance, driving him away, and he could not even sense whether she was still beside him.

0-0-0-0-0

The bottle of saki had spilled, scenting the office. The ambulance was gone now. Fukuoka stared at the phone, though there was no one else to call. The weight of his loss would come later. He would stay in the warehouse for now. Maybe someday, a jaki could lead him back home.

0-0-0-0-0

The doorbell rang again.

Shiori rose from the couch, walked to the door, then stopped. She wasn't up to facing Hiei, couldn't think of a thing to say that would not disgrace them both.

One hand on the door, she wondered whether to open it at all. But the bell sounded again.

It wasn't Hiei. It was Keiko, biting her lip. "You'd better come with me." And then she told Shiori why.

Shiori could not take it in at first. For now, her voice was calm enough. "All right, but Shuuichi--" Shiori glanced up the stairs. "As badly hurt as he is, he'll want to come."

"He's not here."

"Not here--what do you mean? Why?"

"Because he's already at the hospital. He's the one who called me, and sent the cab along. Come, we'd better hurry."

0-0-0-0-0

His despair had no bottom, but Squirrel realized he could not stay huddled in the tree forever. Perhaps when he could move again he would try the warehouse.

0-0-0-0-0

Mercy Hospital.

At the end of the corridor, Shiori spotted Dr. Smith. He looked up, the high-domed brow furrowed, the face haggard, the blue eyes anguished as they met hers.

Dr. Smith shook his head.

Shiori found herself clasping Keiko's hand far too tight. "Hi-chan," she whispered.

0-0-0-0-0

"Please." Hiei's body felt numb from the waist down, racked with pain from the waist up, and he could not open his eyes to see his surroundings, but he had to speak. "Bring her to me."

No answer. Hiei struggled again to open his eyes, failed.

The surface on which he lay was relatively soft. There was a scent of disinfectant, a sharp ping of medical monitors.

Father Brian's voice registered, saying something about the chopper. Kurama's voice, replying that it would take time to sort out. Yuusuke was there, too, sounding angry.

"Please," Hiei repeated. "My firebird. I have to see her."

"Nice going, asshole." This was Urameshi's snarl. "Your back's broken in three places."

"Hush," warned Kurama. "He may be able to hear you."

"Best leave the lad be. Sure and it's a miracle he's still living." Father Brian's voice caught. "No. I can't give in to this! He'll need all his strength in the days to come."

_All my strength_, Hiei wondered. _Why?_

"Father," said Kurama, "is your arm all right?"

"It'll do. 'Twas no artery he slashed, that knife-wieldin' bastard. Thank God he had a glass jaw. To think that someone like him was waiting in the wings to break in on the kids!"

_Break in? What do they mean?_ Hiei heard them speak, but could not move a muscle in response. "My firebird! My kids!"

"To think," added Urameshi, "that demons could enter a cemetery's hallowed ground! Still--helluva good fight."

"Michael!" Hiei cried. "Cecilia! What happened to them!"

"Will that lady be okay?" Urameshi asked.

"Rosa? She's bein' checked out even now, but I suspect she'll suffer no further blackouts."

No one responded to Hiei, but Kurama was saying that Kuwabara had brought the twins to Kaasan. They were alive, then? Thank God. But--why would Kuwabara bring them to Shiori and not their own mother?

"I have to see her," Hiei insisted. "Even for a minute."

The murmur of voices continued. Hiei had trouble making out words above the ping and sigh of medical equipment.

"Poor boy," repeated Father Brian. "Yukina's been notified as well. I don't suppose it'll go down any better, learnin' it from me than the doctors."

"Sucks, however he learns it," muttered Urameshi.

_Learns what? Where is my firebird_?

"And how did the chopper explode?" Urameshi wondered. "If Old Dragon is deaf--"

"The pilot was human," Kurama replied. "If she gave a command to detonate--luckily, it took extra time to fight his way to the switch while the chopper was still rising. Or so I believe. Any closer to the explosion and they'd _both_ be dead."

Both be dead? What did Kurama mean, both? Hiei began to fight in earnest. Had to get to Shay-san.

But now they were strapping his hands down. "Sorry." Kurama's voice, close to his ear. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Let me see her. Please. I have to see her. My firebird." Pale and bleeding on the pavement. Like his nightmares.

_I want to wake up now. I want to see her_.

No words ever reached his lips.

His back was broken. Urameshi had said so. Hiei didn't care. Though the movement tore him to pieces, he raised his head. "Is she--"

Someone pushed him down again. Straps applied to his head, fixing him in place. It would take tremendous effort to open his Jagan and burn away the straps so he could leave and be with his firebird. Could he still use his Jagan to do that?

No sword, no Dragon. Jagan sealed.

Another voice, hauntingly familiar, deep and fluting: "Everything is going to be all right."

_How? How can everything be all right?_

From out in the hall came the metallic rasp of the hospital intercom: **"Code Blue. Code Blue."**

But Hiei could not get his eyes open.

So it was with eyes closed that he saw wings hover above him. Not the great black wings of The Stranger, but golden wings, wings of the true fire color, wings the color of her hair.

_Tenshi_.

She was that beautiful, as beautiful as an angel, his firebird. Why was she not with him?

_Code Blue. Code Blue_. Someone has died.

Angel wings again brushed his face with infinite tenderness.

-30-

(To be continued: Even years later, loss burns deep)


	46. FS C 45: Among The Missing

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet C45: Among The Missing

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Ten years have passed. Time has brought, if not acceptance, then perhaps resignation.

A/N: To 'stick the dismount' is a gymnastics term meaning to make a perfect landing. Accompanying character sketches can be viewed on my LJ homepagey, linked in my profile.

Ten years may have passed for Hiei--but _Idiot Beloved_ and _Firebird Sweet_ represent two years of my life. As always, thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

Some days were better than others.

Firebird Sweet C45: Among The Missing (Endgame, Part Nine)

by

Kenshin

Ten Years Later:

Praying sometimes helped.

Sometimes not.

Too often, pain and loneliness ate at him and could not be beaten back for long, not by force of will, nor any other means. Hiei glanced at his reflection in the mirror and shook his head. The main practice room in Genkai's temple had seen a lot of action, and so had Hiei. Both he and the floor were scarred from long years of use, and of the two, Hiei thought the floor had fared better.

He was kneeling, a sheathed katana lying before him. The sun painted long, slanting streaks on his body, spilling over onto the floor. His ragged gray sweats were soaked through with the effort of his workout.

Taking up the sword, he used it as a crutch to assist him in struggling to his feet, where he stood catching his breath.

Some days--without quite being able to explain it, even to himself, Hiei prayed for the soul of Carlos.

Ten years had wrought changes in Hiei, not merely on the physical plane. Yes, there were the ruined knees, and the aftereffects of the thrice-broken back, and other things besides. Most of the time, he stubbornly ignored such trifling annoyances.

Yesterday, the Sword of Rome had been called on to dispatch a rogue demon terrorizing the park. Today his whole body was paying the price.

And everything had its price.

Though Hiei was slower to anger, cannier in battle (and there would always be battles), quicker to admit when he needed help, sometimes he felt as though someone had flung him off a skyscraper--and backed over him with a forklift.

Today he welcomed the pain as a distraction from his loneliness. This morning in particular had proved difficult in every aspect, from waking alone to working out the kinks in his body. The day dragged, as if he were caught in a bubble of time that simply refused to advance.

He limped over to a small ledge running along the wall at eye level, on which rested a picture in a bamboo frame.

It was his favorite picture of _her_, snapped by Kurama, back in the days of Romantic Soldier, back when she was big with the twins.

He lifted the picture, cradling it in his palm. Every detail now seemed precious.

She wore the oversized Megallica t-shirt given her by Kuwabara, and she had been caught at the stove, preparing a meal of fried chicken. Tongs in one hand, her head was turned to face the camera's flash. Her expression spoke of an ineffable combination of surprise, amusement, irritation, and love, and she had signed the snapshot in a silver marking pen: 'Barefoot, Pregnant, and in the Kitchen.'

The world had seemed so full of hope.

Smiling, Hiei ran his thumb around the bamboo frame. Then, very gently, he placed the picture back on the ledge.

There was work to do.

Now, at last, it was afternoon, a bright and beautiful afternoon in May, a day very like the one when, all those years ago, Hiei and the others had wrangled oni at the Crazy Dog Diner.

A lifetime ago. And Hiei's knee ached, and Michael had invited friends home from school.

If Hiei had done nothing else right in his life, he had at least brought these two kids into the world, and raised them. They were like him, yet not like him, each soul unique as a snowflake and more priceless than teargems. He made his way to the window, glanced out. Cecilia was seated in the garden, surrounded by schoolboys, each of whom tried to out-perform the next in an effort to win her attention. Hiei said, under his breath, "Next year, I'm putting you in a convent."

He was joking, of course. Maybe. Probably.

Hiei's daughter had been presented to the few remaining Kourime a few days ago. He would not allow her to go to the demon plane, and so (he suspected Yukina had some say in the matter) the Kourime had come to her.

It was a test of sorts for Cecilia, and Yukina and the others had concurred that she did indeed possess the latent abilities both to manipulate ice--and to heal.

But it was more of a test for Hiei than for CeeCee; a fearful, apprehensive Rui had been there as well.

When Hiei could look upon Rui and feel nothing but a tinge of pity, he knew the land of his birth and its people no longer held any power over him.

_Just wish CeeCee's mother had been there to see it_.

Well. It was what it was. And he still had parental duties to perform.

For the most part, Michael's friends were well-behaved, and Hiei scarcely paid them much heed. These three, though--

One was tall, one well-muscled, and the third short and husky. These three boys reminded Hiei just a bit of earlier times, of the idiot's cohort--Sawamura, Kirishima, Ohkubo.

_Dwelling in the past again? Nothing can come of that._ Heaving a sigh, Hiei made his painful way from the practice room to the kitchen.

By the time he arrived, Michael was already there, with one of the trio--the short, husky one, Rintaro. The kid greeted him politely, then narrowed his eyes, as if Hiei contained the answer to all the secrets of the universe. It was not the first time he had looked at Hiei that way.

"We've come for supplies," Michael announced.

"Here." Hiei opened the fridge and tossed Michael an armful of milk boxes, which the boy caught expertly. Then Hiei handed him one more: a carton of fruit juice.

His daughter hated milk. So much like her mother. Hiei released another painful sigh, added, "And don't let the others tease your sister."

"Don't worry." Michael's gray eyes held thunderclouds. "I'm the only one allowed to do that."

Snorting, Hiei shook his head.

"Sir?" piped Rintaro.

"Mmm?" Hiei turned half an eye on him. The round little face was turned up; the boy continued to study him earnestly.

"Sir, you look familiar."

"Naturally." He slung an arm around Michael's shoulder. Though Michael wore his black hair cropped short, the white starburst was there, like a brand. "I'm his father."

A frown puckered Rintaro's brow. "No, Sir. I mean ... I think my mother has a picture of you."

Michael rolled his eyes.

Rintaro's face lit up in triumph. "No, wait, not a picture--a CD!"

"Oh. That." Hiei took a deep breath. "It's just ... something I used to do."

"You're on the cover! And a tall boy with orange hair, and a smaller one with dark hair, and one with long red hair. There's also a girl. A pretty one."

In the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator was loud.

"Great." Michael shifted the drink boxes. "Cat's outta the bag. I'll never hear the end of it."

"It belongs to the past," Hiei stated. "And that's where it's staying." Romantic Soldier. They'd had their fifteen minutes of fame, and then some.

"Hey, 'Taro." Flicking his gray eyes at his father, Michael handed the drinks to his friend. "Go on ahead and wait for me. And look out after my sister till I get there!"

They watched in silence as Rintaro left. Then Michael aimed another critical and somewhat accusing glance at his father. "You're limping again."

"I was kneeling. For quite a while."

"You shouldn't do that."

"They're my knees. I'll do what I want with them." Hiei looked around the kitchen --still tiny after all these years, but newly remodeled and no longer inadequate--for something to occupy him.

He settled on running a kitchen towel over the spotless granite countertop. "Even if it hurts," he added.

At last, feeling Michael's gaze bore into his back, he turned. _Someday, he'll have to hear the whole story of Old Dragon, and how he--_

"You miss her, don't you?" Michael interrupted his thoughts. "Mom, I mean."

Carefully, Hiei folded the towel. "Every day."

"So do I. When she--" Michael stopped in mid-sentence, eyes wide. "Dad! Is that--?" He lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head toward the door.

Hiei sucked in a breath, listening. And began to shiver.

Michael, with his superb young hearing, had detected the sound a heartbeat or so before his father. A car, purring along the road that led to the compound.

Dropping the towel, Hiei exploded from the door.

"Dad!" Michael shouted after him. "Your knees!"

But Hiei barely felt them. Ignoring his son's warning, Hiei soared, skimmed over grass, sprang off boulders.

Heart pounding, he reached the hill that formed a natural overlook and stood gazing down at the road.

Below him, a limousine sailed down the blacktop.

It was stopping. The driver got out, went around to the passenger compartment, and opened the door.

Hiei picked his way partly downhill, making sure he slowed his pace until the limo pulled away, leaving its lone passenger standing in the road.

And then he flung himself at the passenger in a single, joyful bound, catching her up with a thump that jarred them both.

Making certain the limo was well out of sight, he pulled her into a long, fervent clinch.

When they finally came up for air, all he could do was hold her and inhale her scent. Apricot and almond and salt spray.

Then he launched into his tirade. "Three weeks! Three weeks, with you torturing me over the phone every night! I ought to have you arrested!"

"My babies!" she said plaintively. "I want to see my babies."

"Your 'babies' are fine. Your 'babies' can wait for two seconds." He pulled her close again. "Speaking of which--"

She shrugged. "Babies come when they come. As if you didn't know. Besides, Ronni's kind of old to be having her first. And nervous." She paused to put her fire-colored hair in order, only to have him grab her and mess it up again.

"Why didn't you tell me you were heading home?"

"Because I'm an evil, black-hearted little hellion. Also stupid."

"You're not stupid. Evil, maybe. A hellion for sure."

"You could have come along, you know."

Hiei shook his head. "One of us had to act like a parent."

"And how did CeeCee do?"

"How do you think?"

She laughed. "The Kourime all fell in love with her."

"You ought to know. She takes after you." He caught her to him again, then eased up, fearful of breaking her ribs. "Don't _ever_ do this again!"

"Don't worry." Her breath tickled his ear, making him shiver all over. "It was tough on me, too."

He held her away from him, drinking in the sight. Ten years, and she still looked much the same as in that bamboo-framed photo--minus the bulging middle. Today, Shay-san wore a sleek traveling suit that made her look as glamorous as a 1930s film star, and she had even managed to keep her handbag on her shoulder during his enthusiastic greeting.

"Anyway it's over now," he sighed. "You're back home with me, and that's where you're going to stay."

"No arguments here."

"How's the new mother? How's the brat?"

"Fine. Ronni was threatening to name her Hiei."

"Why? Does that girl hate her own offspring?" More than ten years previous, Hiei had helped get Ronni Spencer, Shay-san's dearest friend, back from the clutches of the notorious White Sands Serpent. White Sands Serpent had been quiet ever since, owing mainly to the fact that Hiei had destroyed him.

Ronni, now bearing the last name of Cooper, was one of the few in _Ningenkai_ who knew Hiei was a demon. Others included Father Brian, Shay's Uncle-the-Brother Thomas McNeil, who wrote demonologies, and of course, Kaasan.

"Fitting--how that girl will get to live on the ranch in Arizona," Hiei mused. "The one where she grew up."

Shay-san arched an eyebrow. "The one where you killed all those bulls," she reminded him.

"Only two, and they didn't belong to the Spencers, and I was saving you from them. You're getting senile, woman."

"Ronni and Red," Shay-san mused, referring to the ranch hand who had worked at the Jackson's neighboring spread, and who had wed Ronni two years ago. "The ditz and the cowboy. What a mismatch."

"People said that about us."

"Still do."

"Spellcaster."

"Jagan Master."

"I've got a surprise for you," she added.

"What is it?"

She gave him a very smug look. "It can wait until later."

His knees felt fine now. Everything felt fine. They stood inches apart, his hands on her shoulders. Her features softened into an ineffible combination of desire, amusement, irritation, the gumdrop-gray eyes shimmering at him.

"Take me up," she whispered.

He gathered her into his arms, tensed, and sprang.

They soared over the estate, flitting over trees and lawn, at last seeing the house approach. Her dream house.

_Take me up_. She'd first said it to him when they danced the Firebird Lament. She'd repeated the command the night they went after Old Dragon. If he had truly lost her that night--

Speculations were useless. The past was out of reach, the future not yet written.

There was only now.

The kids were playing just outside the temple. Michael and CeeCee looked up at their flight, waved to their parents.

Shay-san waved back, but Hiei concentrated on keeping her weight balanced in both arms. Takeoff was easy; you just jumped up and went. There lay before you almost infinite possibility of choice regarding speed, velocity, direction.

It was on landing that the way narrowed, the choices became more limited, even crucial.

Landing required the most skillful approach, the best acrobatics, the acute, razor-precise angle.

When he had met Shay-san, Hiei had not foreseen the path his life would take. Now he could imagine no other.

With the house and its steep-pitched roof looming close now, Hiei pondered how to shift her weight so he could take the brunt of landing on his less-mangled knee.

As they zoomed toward the back of the house, she tightened her arms around his neck. "Have faith," she purred into his ear. "You always stick the dismount."

-30-

(To be concluded: There's one surprise yet in store!)


	47. FS: Coda

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Firebird Sweet: Coda

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T

Summary: Sometimes, a surprise can still stop you in your tracks

A/N: Accompanying character sketches up on my LJ homepagey. _Idiot Beloved_ and _Firebird Sweet_ (not to mention the accompanying illustrations) constitute the most exhilarating and exhausting project I've ever accomplished. I appreciate your reviews and once again, thanks for choosing to read this tale!

"I thought you were gone."

Firebird Sweet: Coda

by

Kenshin

After ten years, he could play her like a violin. And last night he had conjured a number of interesting tunes.

Shay-san had refused to divulge her surprise until they'd seen the kids and had dinner. But by then it was too late; other things claimed their attention.

It was morning now, and time to get back to a normal routine, but there were good reasons for delay.

"Well?" Shay-san stretched, lazy in the early sun. "Was that some kind of record?"

"Who keeps count?" Hiei purred. "Not me. Consider it payment all those nights you tortured me over the phone."

"I ought to have you arrested."

"Go ahead and call the cops. Officers Masumoto and Obayashi will gladly haul me off to rot in jail."

"Serves you right." Shutting her eyes again, she drowsed awhile, and he let her. Trans-oceanic flights were tiring, even when you were on a jetliner, not skipping over the water's surface tension like a two-hundred-pound rocket.

Being separated from his firebird for so long had made Hiei introspective, more inclined to examine the past.

In 1997, Japan had bestowed on him The Order of the Golden Kite, for "civil and military service." In 1998, The Order of the Rising Sun. Hiei was the only ordinary civilian ever to receive this award. He kept silent about both.

And of his private audience in The Eternal City, Hiei spoke to no one--but left with something in return: his first named sword, the last he would ever need, _Tenchi no Hi:_ Flame of Heaven and Earth.

Incapable of shattering, able to summon his most powerful attack, its superb balance and lightness served him well.

_Tenchi no Hi._ **She** could touch it--or rather, place her hands underneath it, where it would hover, obedient, awaiting Hiei's order. But should anyone with evil intent lay a hand on the Flame of Heaven and Earth--

Best head for the hills.

Hiei grinned. While he might possess ruined knees, and there were days when he could not move without pain, life indeed held other rewards.

Already, rumors abounded that this particular sword had been forged by angels, and could slay a hundred demons at a stroke. Only last month, patrolling the park, Hiei had come upon a furtive trio of oni, who took one look at him, cried, "That's the one who wields _Tenchi no Hi!_" and flat-out fled.

And Old Dragon had been wrong.

There was satisfaction in that, as well. Old Dragon may have pulled a few purse-strings and leaned on a booking agent or two, but he had not 'made' Hiei, nor had he 'broken' him.

To the contrary. If Hiei and Shay-san accepted every booking that came their way, both would be employed every day, round the clock: voice-overs and commercials, bookings for private parties, cruises and showrooms.

And while they lacked the sort of fame that made for instant recognition, they made good money and did better work, and maintained the kind of privacy demanded of two agents of justice who happened to make their living in the public eye.

Of all his songs, the one Hiei never performed again was "Chasing The Dragon." Only a handful of people, those involved in the original battle, knew the real reason.

The little singer Ibuki eventually recovered her voice, though never her memories of that dreadful night when Lermontov and Kenji both died to save her, that night she had lost one protector and one potential sweetheart.

Ibuki's first word, screamed at the top of her lungs, and which brought the abbess flying to her room, was "RUN!"

And while staying at the monastery, Ibuki made the acquaintance of a friendly girl with ice-colored hair and ruby eyes, who beguiled her with tales of a faraway realm of snow.

For a brief spell, Ibuki had considered entering holy orders. She stayed at the monastery for some time, where she purged herself of considerable distress, writing poems about ravening fogs and heroic foreigners.

But she returned to the stage at last, and today brings the poignancy of her voice and the beauty of her face to enka, the Japanese 'song act' of traditional blues.

The sun poured liquid gold across the floor. Shay-san made a sudden shift in the bed next to him, murmuring something under her breath. As a gentleman, Hiei had to oblige.

Much later, as they dressed, she sprung her news: She had met someone on the flight home. "Jack Keegan, remember him?"

"Manager of the Vista Room?" Hiei pulled on his second sock. Of course. Keegan. The Seacliff country club where Romantic Soldier had its sole American engagement.

"He's a record producer now." She fluffed her hair in the mirror.

"Good for him."

"If you're not interested I can always talk to Kurama."

"You just want me to beg."

"Got it in one."

He dropped to his knees, clasped his hands. "Well?"

"Okay." Turning, she sat on the bed, as excited as a little girl, glimmering gumdrop eyes alight. "He expressed interest in mounting a Romantic Soldier Retrospective DVD, with full commentary, even re-recording some of the numbers."

"Ch." Rising, Hiei strode to the casement windows and flung them open, breathing in the new day. "As if I want to disgrace myself climbing onstage with a doddering bunch of has-beens."

"Nothing could stop you, and you know it." She joined him, pressing her cheek against his back.

She was right. Nothing could stop him.

For a while he just stood feeling her heartbeats against his back. Best friend, comrade-in-arms, mother of his children. Architect of his redemption.

"I don't think I ever told you," she began. "After the chopper exploded, and we were in the hospital..."

He waited, dry-mouthed. They had never spoken of this openly, but it was always with them, a dim ghostly presence that refused to be laid to rest.

There had, of course, been an investigation of the helicopter crash. Both Hiei and Shay-san claimed to remember nothing. For a while Masumoto and Obayashi had not exactly hounded them, but paid them more attention than they would have liked.

Eventually, the cops gave up.

Old Dragon's remains were never found. Maybe all the poisons in his system had caught up with him at last, dissolving him on contact with the water.

"Back then, in the hospital. I heard them call Code Blue." She struggled to control her voice. "And I kept trying to get up. Because..." She had to stop again to collect herself. "Only when Kurama swore on Kaasan's life--see, I thought it was you who coded."

"I know," he said, turning to face her. "Because I thought it was _you_."

The fact that he had managed to twist his body in mid-air and land beneath her, had probably saved her life, and nearly cost his own. She had gotten off with a broken collarbone and two cracked ribs and some broken bones in her foot--far less damage than Hiei.

For days, at Mercy Hospital, Hiei had hovered in and out of consciousness. And so he had not rallied, and despaired of Shay-san, until Shiori came to his bedside. Taking his hand in hers, she whispered, "Your firebird is safe, and well on her way to recovery. On my son's life, I swear it." Whereupon Shiori was ordered out of the room by the neurologist.

For a long time neither of them spoke.

"You're beautiful when you're mopy," she said at last.

Hiei snorted. "Race you to the temple."

She darted from the room, graceful as a wood-nymph. "It's not even a contest, Tiny Tim."

0-0-0-0-0

They pelted downhill toward the main temple and burst into the back, finally skidding to a halt in the kitchen.

Breakfast was finished, as the lingering scents of strong tea and miso soup attested. Six people were seated at the table--Michael and CeeCee, with Michael's three friends, and one other person, hidden behind a newspaper--the one they laughingly referred to as 'the nanny'--when she wasn't within earshot.

"Good morning!" Hiei shouted.

"I'm not deaf," grumbled Genkai, still behind her newspaper.

"You only act like you are," he informed her.

"That's so I don't have to respond to your idiotic drivel." Laying the paper down, Genkai fixed him with a supremely scornful, heavy-lidded stare. Although by any standards Hiei was now a wealthy man ('filthy rich,' as his brother-in-law liked to put it), Genkai had graciously permitted him to build a vacation home on the grounds of her temple, and was having a wonderful time never letting him forget it.

"Is your family always this psycho?" hissed the tallest of the boys--the Sawamura-analog.

Michael nodded, quite unperturbed. He never picked unnecessary fights.

CeeCee had no such limitations. She folded her arms and scowled. "_I_ think they're cute."

Michael's tall friend clammed up. However, the Kirishima-analog blushed furiously, hastening to assure CeeCee that she was right, her family was adorable, cuter than Pikachu, even--earning a sour glance from Hiei, and more thoughts about packing his daughter off to a convent, _yesterday_.

Princess Starfish. Prince Jellybean. At their age, Hiei had been fighting for his life in _Makai_. And his kids were popular, leaders in their class. Stranger things had happened, but not by much.

Rintaro said nothing, darting what he fondly assumed to be covert looks at Hiei.

After the night of fervent exchange on the physical plane, Hiei and Shay-san's means of mental exchange were in fine fettle.

--Watch that one. He might be on to you.

--Rintaro? Hiei snatched a cookie from the platter on the counter. --Yup. 'Made' me yesterday.

--Uh-oh.

--I meant Romantic Soldier. He finally figured that out.

--Don't be so smug. I think he knows there's something 'different' about you.

--He'll have to prove it first.

They hurried on to the practice room. "Come on," Hiei heard CeeCee tell the others, excitement ringing in her voice. "They're going to dance! Baasan, aren't you coming?"

"Nothing on earth can force me to stand there watching 'Fred and Ginger' gyrate," Genkai replied.

Hiei and Shay-san had discussed the twins and their powers. Half-human, half-demon, their strengths had not yet fully manifested. Hiei was right in that Michael had inherited his eidetic memory; he also excelled in every sport at school. And it could be the girl was destined to be a healer, but just at the moment, Cecilia much preferred to bake cookies.

The kids filed in to settle against the wall.

Hiei felt all right today. The boom box lay in its usual corner, but there was no need.

--What about "Firebird Lament?" he asked.

"Firebird Lament." Their most strenuous dance, to a song lasting nearly five minutes, five minutes roaring right up to the redline, and neither of them was capable of an exact recreation of the original video performance.

But they could re-think it.

After the chopper explosion, Hiei hadn't been able to move for an entire month. Yuusuke had indeed been right: he had broken his back in three places.

On the day Hiei awoke, the neurologist, Dr. Dokan, had marched into his room and told him that likely he would not survive. He would certainly never walk again--and most assuredly remain paralyzed from the waist down.

Hiei remembered that day very well. It had taken the combined efforts of Kuwabara, Dr. Smith and Yuusuke to pull Kurama off the neurologist.

Hiei was pleased to prove Dr. Dokan wrong, but it took a grueling year of physical rehab to win back eighty percent of his strength, during which time the team had argued over why not even Yukina could heal him. Various theories were broached: Hiei had used up too much ki fighting Old Dragon's Two-Hearts poison, or resisting Shay-san's order to detonate. Or struggling to keep her alive.

Now, face to face in the practice room, Shay-san made a great show of drumming her fingers while the kids waited, squirming with impatience.

She raised an eyebrow at him. --Wallowing in the past?

--I never wallow. You ready?

--Any time this millennium.

He smirked. --Whatever you do, don't stop.

When they stood hand in hand, Hiei could feel the beat of her blood. He could hear the song in his head--as could she. The long, chime-spangled intro purled out before them in a golden carpet of ethereal notes.

"Start like this," Hiei directed, promenading her slowly around the practice room. "Okay. Nice pace, good for old people." He winked at CeeCee in the mirror, was gratified to see her giggle into her scarf.

"No back-flips," warned Shay-san.

--Of course not, he thought, frowning into the mirror as they parted to do a simple time step, then came together again for a variation of Tango Walk Two. --These paper walls would never hold up.

--Two-minute mark, she thought at him.

"Start flicking something at me," he suggested.

CeeCee tossed them her scarf. Hiei caught it mid-air, handed it off to Shay-san, who wielded the scarf like it was Kurama's Rose Whip. "Good time-waster! Halfway mark."

"What are they dancing to?" Rintaro goggled at the silent boom box, then swiveled his head to stare at Hiei and Shay-san.

Michael's lips twitched. "'Firebird Lament.' It's on that CD. You know, the one your Mom listens to."

"But--"

"Three-quarters there," said Hiei, leading Shay-san into a reverse turn and right lunge.

--Redline, she thought, --Hit it!

They picked up the pace.

This was the spot where they had performed their double back-flip, running straight up the wall, turning in mid-air, then twisting to smile into the camera. The spot where she said, _Take me up_.

Time changes everything. Time changes nothing.

"Okay, nine-tenths done," Hiei directed. In the doorway, Genkai appeared, all folded arms and rolling eyes.

"Cool down now." Shay-san spun, snapping her hips at him, her nose in the air.

The boom box lay in its corner, silent.

"B-but--" Rintaro cast another puzzled glance around the room. "But I can't hear any music."

CeeCee smiled. "They can."

-30-

(Another A/N: That's it! Mission accomplished. I'm due for some time off, but then--let the sidefics begin!

Still To Come: In these stories, we will watch Hiei's new sword in action, pit friend against friend in battle, meet Kaitou Yuu, and find out just exactly what _Codename: Moron_ means. Stay tuned!)


End file.
